The Outback Stars (27 page)

“Got it,” he said, but that was premature. He spent nearly twenty minutes trying to pry the hook free. It was slow, laborious work, and he was starting to sweat inside the suit when a commotion came over his headset. Someone was cheering triumphantly in the command module, and someone else was clapping.

“What's going on?” Myell asked.

No one answered right away. Stuck in the dark, cold slots with only the dead DNGO for company, Myell tried again. “What happened?”

“Sergeant Strayborn made the ECP list,” Hosaka said.

Strayborn sounded overjoyed. “That's soon-to-be
ensign
to you!”

“Congratulations,” Myell said. “Good job, Gordon.”

He was glad for Strayborn. The man had worked hard for his achievements. While Myell struggled to free Airmid, Nitta came by the command module with more congratulations. Maybe they didn't know the comm was open, or perhaps they didn't care, but when Strayborn joked, “Who's going to take over all my good work here?” Nitta's immediate response was, “VanAmsal.”

Myell told himself that was no problem. He could work for VanAmsal well enough now that she no longer believed Ford's accusation. Once Airmid was free he tugged her into the shaft and took her to the command module. There was no way he could repair the damage to her arm and hook with his own tools. The DNGO would have to go to the Repair Shop, and he remembered all too clearly what had happened last time he ventured that way.

“You want me to go, Sergeant?” Hosaka asked.

“No,” he said, hanging up the EV. “I'll do it.”

Dread accompanied him all the way to the shop, his palms sweaty on the DNGO's leash. To his relief only RT Sorenson was at the counter. She wasn't the most cheerful sailor he had ever met, but as far as he knew she wasn't involved in Chiba's dirty work, either.

“How long have you been over here?” he asked as Sorenson logged Airmid into her gib.

“Just a few days,” she said. “Pisses me off. I like working on Mainship better.”

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. He skipped lunch in order to skim through a dry text about Aboriginal history and spent most of the afternoon trying to get Core to reboot three malfunctioning DNGOs. Around dinnertime Timrin pinged him to ask if he was going to the party for Strayborn at the No Holds Barred.

“Can't,” Myell said. “I've got work to do.”

Timrin made a sour face. “Don't be an idiot and sit there sulking.”

“I'm not sulking.” But of course he was. He dragged himself over to the bar, where at least forty people had gathered. Kevwitch hit a pool ball so hard that it smashed into a bulkhead and Sullivan was chatting up a young AT. Jodenny was there too, nursing a drink alongside Ensign Hultz.

“There you are.” Timrin sidled up with two beers in hand. “Drink up and be merry.”

Myell took a deep gulp. Over the rim of the glass he saw Commander Osherman approach and speak to Jodenny. She tilted her head, serious and intent on his words.

“Yeah,” Myell said to no one in particular. “It's time for me to go.”

“Drink up first,” Timrin said, and so he did. But the beer didn't ease the raw feeling he got from watching Jodenny and Osherman together. Master Chief DiSola quieted the crowd in order for the division officers to commend their personnel, and Jodenny shook Strayborn's hand.

“Congratulations,” she said. “You're going to make a fine officer.”

Quenger was more boisterous. He thumped Sergeant Kesnicki on the back, mourned at how low Team Space standards had fallen, and then dumped a pitcher of beer over her head.

“Classy,” Myell observed, but Timrin laughed loudly.

The music on the overvids began and several couples started dancing. The floor was sticky with spilled beer, the air hotter than usual. Myell loosened his collar. He felt like an outcast teenager at a school dance on Baiame. If he listened hard enough he could hear the prairie wind, the crackle of fields killed by drought, the creak of a corpse swinging from the kitchen rafters. Then the wind became the hissing of a Rainbow Serpent, and the overvids became the serpent's scales as it arched across the stars—

Myell's knees began to buckle. He flailed out, desperate for a handhold, and stumbled against some sailors behind him. Timrin's face loomed in his vision.

“Terry?” Timrin demanded. “You all right?”

“Just need some air,” he choked out. He shrugged off Timrin's help and lurched out the back exit to a passageway. Myell was standing with his back against the wall and his hands on his knees when Jodenny approached.

“Terry?” She immediately corrected herself. “Sergeant?”

“I'm okay,” he said.

She reached for his forehead to test for fever. Her fingers were cool and delicate. She said, “Maybe it's the aftereffects of our … trip.”

He wasn't about to tell her about the shaman or Rainbow Serpent. “It's nothing,” he insisted, straightening. “Have you told anyone about what happened?”

“No. You?”

He shook his head. They stood there quietly, the music from the bar muffled in the background.

“About Strayborn…” Jodenny said. “With him leaving and all, I need someone to run T6. I want you to do it.”

Myell said, “I heard VanAmsal's going to T6.”

A curious look crossed her face. “I get the say-so, last time I checked. I can't give you any help other than Hosaka and Ishikawa. Will that do?”

He knew there would be rumors, but didn't care anymore. “Sure. No problem.”

Jodenny gave him one of her rare smiles. “Good. I'm glad.”

Myell wanted to cup her head and kiss her until her toes curled, and wipe away any feelings she might have for another man, and keep that smile for himself forever. Because she would probably slap him or have him thrown in the brig, he nodded toward the party instead. “Better get back before they miss you. I'm going to head back to my quarters.”

“You're sure you're okay?” Jodenny asked.

He nodded. With one last reluctant look Jodenny went back into the bar and left him alone. The air vent over his head sounded like the hiss of a snake, and every step back to his cabin was dogged by memories of Baiame.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“I think it's a bad idea,” Nitta said on the tram to T6.

Jodenny had a hangover from Strayborn's party, the tram was exceptionally crowded for such an early hour, and she was tired of discussing the topic. “We don't have a lot of choices, and he'll do fine.”

Nitta grumbled under his breath. She hadn't expected him to do cartwheels over her choice of Myell to run T6, but she had no qualms or second doubts. She ignored Nitta's unhappy expression as they disembarked on the Rocks and crossed the access ring. When Jodenny saw Hosaka in the command module she sent Nitta down to the base of the hold and asked, “How did Ensign Ysten's inspection go yesterday?”

“Honestly, ma'am? I've had more thorough lookovers in a bar,” Hosaka said.

“Didn't spend a lot of time?”

“Three minutes top to bottom. See that sprinkler over there? I've been trying to get it fixed for six months. Told the ensign, but he didn't care.”

Jodenny called up Ysten's inspection on her gib. He hadn't noted it. She wasn't surprised. When Ysten crossed the access ring she pulled him aside and said, “Ensign Ysten, about your inspections. You weren't as thorough as I need you to be.”

Ysten grimaced. “I did everything that was on the checklist.”

“I'm going to reinspect this module. For every code violation you overlooked, you owe me a thousand-word essay on the importance of safety inspections.”

He gazed at her disdainfully. “Essay?”

Hosaka covered her mouth with her hand.

Ysten said, “Reinspect all you want. I'll give you two thousand if you can find something I missed.”

Jodenny had Ysten and Hosaka both wait outside. She noted the broken sprinkler. The exit sign was lit and clean. The medbot was fully charged. So was the fire suppression unit, but the replacement date had expired.

“Four thousand words,” she said when she emerged. She handed Ysten the list. He immediately went inside to double-check her. Hosaka said, “Maybe I'll just go on down to quarters, Lieutenant,” and was gone by the time Ysten came out.

“Two minor violations,” Ysten fumed. “No big deal.”

“Redo all your inspections, Ensign. Tomorrow I'll reinspect some of them at random. And tomorrow the penalty doubles—each violation is a four-thousand-word essay.”

“Don't you think you're overreacting?” Ysten asked.

“Ensign Ysten, if you at all value your Team Space career, you will cease and desist with the attitude. Do I make myself clear?”

“You don't scare me.”

Jodenny gave him her best full-wattage glare. “You should be scared. You're the lousiest officer on this ship. You're lazy, insolent, and bad with people. I don't know why you joined Team Space, but all you do is make people want to shove you out an airlock. So why don't you go get started on those inspections before I round up a volunteer party to do exactly that?”

Ysten stormed off with the air of injured dignity that only ensigns could manage.

Quarters went well. She announced Myell's new position and aside from Nitta, no one seemed to have a problem with it. VanAmsal even seemed pleased. By that afternoon news had spread to Chief DiSola, who stopped her on the Flats. “Heard you promoted Myell. You think that's wise?”

“Yes,” Jodenny said. “I do.”

She was still short on personnel, but with Myell in T6 and VanAmsal in LD-G things soon fell into a good routine. Jodenny found she actually had time to answer COSALs and data requests from Fleet. Dr. Ng left her notes saying he hadn't found anything yet, but hadn't given up. A week after they had left Mary River, Jodenny was still trying to hammer out a report that would describe what it had been like to feel the yellow light sweep her and Myell to a tropical rain forest that was nowhere in the Seven Sisters.

Rokutan pinged her. “Ready for that hangar tour?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said, but before she could get there Commander Wildstein requested that she report to her office. “Come in,” Wildstein said when Jodenny arrived, and led the way inside. It was bright but stark in there, not a single folder or file out of place. The air felt at least ten degrees colder than it had out in the passageway.

“We never had your welcome aboard interview,” Wildstein said as they both sat down.

“No, ma'am,” Jodenny said.

Wildstein gazed at her frankly. “Well, no point in doing it now. You've been aboard long enough to know how I work and what I expect. Meanwhile, there's been a complaint made against you and Sergeant Myell. That you were fraternizing together on Mary River and then you promoted him to be in charge of T6. What do you say to that?”

*   *   *

“So these dreams you've been having,” Chaplain Mow said as she watered a spider plant. “Tell me more.”

Myell gazed bleakly at the walls of her office, which were grammed a soothing shade of green. The ceiling simulated the sky and sun of a summer day on Fortune. From a discreet set of speakers came the sounds of songbirds and a babbling brook, and plants filled every shelf, niche, and cranny. He had called her that morning, after yet another sleepless night, and she had told him to come by on his lunch hour.

“They're just images, mostly,” he replied. “A shaman with a staff that turns into a snake.”

“If you're talking about an Aboriginal wise man, we prefer the term ‘wirrinun.' And you know he's one because…?”

Myell described him for her. He described the Rainbow Serpent as well.

“I've been doing a lot of reading,” he added. “The Dreamtime, the Wondjina, songlines.”

Chaplain Mow pinched dead leaves off a spider plant. Mildly she said, “‘Songlines' is a European term. When the Wondjina traipsed across the land and gave rise to everything, they made sacred paths you can still follow today.”

“But you can't see them. There aren't any maps or markers. You have to … what? Follow your heart?”

Chaplain Mow poked her finger into the dirt of a ficus. “Are you from Aboriginal ancestry? I don't remember.”

“I don't know. My mother was from Melbourne, but she never spoke about it.” Myell supposed that there were colony records on Baiame that revealed where, exactly, his parents had emigrated from, but because of his light skin color, he'd never considered the possibility. “I don't look Aboriginal.”

“No, you don't. But just because you don't come from a specific belief system doesn't mean you can't join it later.” Chaplain Mow put her watering can aside and sat beside him, her gaze warm and inviting. “It's like family. There's the one you're born into, and the one you make for yourself.”

Myell studied his left thumbnail and didn't answer.

“Is something else bothering you besides dreams of a naked Aboriginal?”

He didn't want to talk about it. Or did he? He had known she would see through him. Reluctantly he said, “I found out Daris is on Warramala. That he's been asking for me, that he wants to talk to me.”

“Daris is the brother who abused you.”

“If you call it that,” he said.

“I remember we agreed to call it that a few months ago.”

Myell longed for T6, where he didn't have to talk to anyone at all.

Chaplain Mow leaned forward in her chair, the watering can forgotten. “You don't have to speak with him, Terry. You don't have to listen to anything he says. Under normal circumstances, adults have the power to engage or disengage in dialogue with one another, and much more of an ability to protect themselves than children do.”

“I don't want to reopen stuff that I left behind a long time ago.”