The Outback Stars (28 page)

She touched his arm. “You didn't leave it behind. You don't let it rule you, but you still carry it.”

He didn't like to think that was true. Myell lifted his eyes toward the grammed ceiling, where clouds coasted by on an unseen wind. “Well, the good news is that I think I'm in love. The bad news is that she's completely unavailable.”

“Really?” Chaplain Mow looked intrigued. “How completely?”

“One hundred and ten percent.”

“Hmmm. Does she love you back?”

“I doubt it.” Jodenny had followed him from the party. She had put her soft hand against his skin. But even if she did feel something, she had enough discipline to squash her feelings. He was the sappy fool who wanted to ignore the way the world worked.

Thinking of her made him restless, and he suddenly stood. “Sorry. I have to get back to work.”

“We haven't finished talking about the Aboriginal you see in your dreams.”

“I'll come back later,” he said.

Chaplain Mow's skepticism shone through her expression.

“I will,” Myell insisted.

Before she let him go, she supplied him with a list of resources to read about Aboriginals, advised him to get a medical checkup, and suggested he try relaxation techniques before bedtime. He was in the lift on the way to the tram when it stopped on E-Deck. Gallivan boarded, gym bag in hand. He was whistling cheerfully.

“Been looking for you, Gloom,” Gallivan said.

Myell clenched his fists. “You can stop calling me that.”

Gallivan only grinned. “Up for playing pool tonight? I need some extra money.”

“Last time we played, I whipped your ass.” Maybe that was true: he couldn't remember. It had been a long time since they had done anything together.

“I've been practicing. Besides, you've got very little time left to try and win my money.”

Three weeks, more or less, before Gallivan's contract ended and he disembarked at Warramala. “All right,” Myell said, and Gallivan got off the lift. Before the doors closed he wedged his foot between them.

“You know you can trust me, right?” Gallivan asked. “Chiba starts up again, anything like that, you let me know.”

Myell had barely seen Chiba since returning from Mary River. “Why? Have you heard anything?”

“Haven't heard a peep,” Gallivan said, and sounded sincere. “But it's when Chiba's the most quiet that you have to worry the most.”

“Things are fine. I don't need any help.”

“You always say that,” Gallivan said, and the door started to slide closed. “Rarely is it true.”

*   *   *

Sitting in Wildstein's office, goose bumps on her arms because it was so damned cold, Jodenny restrained from immediately defending herself. Nitta had probably made the complaint. It was exactly the kind of weaselly thing he would do. Or maybe someone else in her own division. No one could have witnessed her at the Myell farm or at the Spheres, but it was possible they had been observed when Myell drove her back to New Christchurch.

“Is this a formal investigation, Commander?” she asked Wildstein.

“No. Commander Al-Banna doesn't know. Just you, me, and Master Chief DiSola. Does this allegation have any merit?”

“Absolutely not, ma'am.”

Which was true. If Wildstein knew what Jodenny and Myell had been truly doing on Mary River, rumors of fraternization would be the last thing on her mind. But Jodenny wasn't ready yet to make that report. Not ready to be doubted, questioned, and put under more scrutiny.

“Commander Lueller in Admin has a need for a sergeant,” Wildstein said. “He knew Myell on the
Okeechobee
and asked about him. What do you think about transferring Myell to put a stop to any rumors?”

Jodenny didn't hesitate. “I think it's a terrible idea. I'm already undermanned as it is. You take Myell and I'm going to have only one sergeant and one chief, which is about the same as having just one sergeant. I'll have to put an RT in charge of T6.”

“What about if I rounded up a sergeant for you? A one-on-one swap.”

“It wouldn't be the same for Myell, ma'am. Working in Admin, out of his rating, wouldn't look good for him on his next eval. He wouldn't have a chance of making chief.”

Wildstein's frown deepened. “I heard he wasn't interested in a promotion.”

“He needs to keep his options open.”

“Ask him. If he's amenable, let's look into it.”

Let's look into it.
Jodenny mulled those four words as she left the Flats. Since when had Wildstein been so accommodating? That she hadn't pressed the issue of fraternization—that she was so willing to take Jodenny's denial at face value—was also strange. Her appetite gone, she decided to skip lunch and head for a Morale Committee meeting. Afterward she called Myell and had him meet her down on LD-G. They stayed in full sight of VanAmsal and let the noise of the mag belts cover their conversation.

“Who could have seen anything?” Myell asked after she told him about the complaint.

“It doesn't matter. Rumors don't need proof to fuel them.”

Myell shook his head. “Commander Lueller didn't even like me on
Okeechobee.
”

“He likes you now,” Jodenny said, and resisted adding,
as do I.
A DNGO flew by them, a damaged crate in its claws. “I think you should consider it.”

“You want me to leave?”

“I want you to do what's best for your career.”

“You're assuming I have one left.”

Jodenny hadn't heard self-pity like that from him before. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had left Strayborn's party after being dizzy. “Do you feel all right?”

“I wish people would stop asking me that,” he said testily.

She gave him a level look.

“I'm not transferring,” he said. “We could tell them what happened on Mary River, if that's what you want.”

Jodenny shook her head. She watched VanAmsal inspect the damaged crate and slap a repair code on its side. “Not yet. When we get to Warramala, we should see if it happens again.”

“Why would it? What happened was probably a fluke. If it was common, people would be reporting it all the time. Besides, if we're seen together there, it will just further the gossip. I don't like it that people think the only way I can get ahead is to sleep with you.”

Didn't he want to sleep with her? Jodenny quashed an inappropriate mental image of him naked and warm in her bed. “I resent it, too. But you know we're not fraternizing, and I know it, so people will just have to find their fodder elsewhere.”

“You think it's that easy?”

“No,” Jodenny said. “But it shouldn't be that hard, either.”

“If I were a lieutenant in some other division, would you—” Myell started to say, then clamped his mouth shut.

“Would I what?” Jodenny asked.

Myell shook his head.

Talking was getting them nowhere, and the noise from the mag-lev was giving her a headache. “Do you want that transfer to Admin?” she asked.

“No.” Defiance in his tone. “I'm staying right here.”

She couldn't say she disapproved. Better that he remain in her division, where she could keep a professional eye on him no matter how much he aggravated her. Wildstein didn't seem surprised or disappointed when Jodenny relayed Myell's preferences. Jodenny waited for Master Chief DiSola to raise the issue, but he said nothing. None of her fellow officers hinted that Jodenny had behaved improperly, although there was one wry remark the afternoon they painted the wardroom with the
Aral Sea
's emblem.

“A fine reproduction if I do say so myself,” Vu remarked as she wiped her hands clean.

Zarkesh, who'd been recruited to assist with the job, said, “It's all in the wrist.”

Hultz said, “I think it looks great. I can't wait until we get the boys from Flight up here and whip their butts on Izim. Right, Jodenny?”

“Hmm?”

“Where are you?” Vu asked, a twinkle in her eye. “Daydreaming? You look like a woman falling in love.”

Jodenny picked up a paintbrush and lied to everyone, including herself. “Trust me. I'm not falling anywhere.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

The next day she took Rokutan up on his offer to tour the Flight Deck and hangar. The Flight Deck was on A-Deck, and it was from there that all the birdies, foxes, and other ship's craft launched and returned. A few dozen craft sat parked against the bulkheads, much as they'd been during the Hail and Farewell. The launch doors were closed, but during normal ops they would be open with a clearshield in place. The lifts, winches, and DNGOs that moved the ships around in the cavernous space were all quiet, and only one sergeant was on duty in the overhead booth normally manned by two dozen Flight crew.

“Everyone's off in meetings or training,” the sergeant said when Rokutan brought Jodenny up.

Rokutan said, “Lieutenant Scott was interested in seeing how things worked up here.”

“Sure thing, Commander,” the sergeant said. He gave Jodenny a quick but thorough overview of the panels, vids, and sensors. “There's nothing going on while we're in the Alcheringa, but the minute we drop out at Warramala we'll launch the foxes, get the birdies out inspecting the towers, start receiving passengers and cargo, and start up training flights. Everything gets prepped, repaired, boarded, unloaded down in the hangar—the Flight Deck's only for launching and landing, and you don't want to be out there when the birdies fire up their engines anyway.”

Jodenny nodded politely, well aware of most of that already.

“We do primary monitoring from this station here. There's always a Flight Duty Officer on watch, even when nothing's happening. In the event of an emergency that FDO can take remote control of any ship that carries our markers. There's a backup station on the bridge, and they can do the same. In a really big emergency, the bridge can actually ditch the clearshield by jettisoning the shield generators. We've got our own manual override—that control panel down there.”

Jodenny could see the panel, which was marked with clear danger signs.

The sergeant snickered. “Course, you'd only do that if you're crazy, desperate, or bucking for a hero's medal.”

He paused, his gaze flickered to the MacBride Cross on Jodenny's uniform. She pretended not to notice. Hastily the sergeant said, “Anyway, that's all that's exciting up here. The hangar's where the real action is.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Rokutan said.

A shielded evacuation ladder led from the Ops booth through the Flight Deck and into the hangar below. A dozen birdies were stripped open for maintenance, and at least thirty mechanics were busy running diagnostics or swapping out equipment. The Flight Support office was a tiny room with space enough for only three desks, some filing cabinets, and a few battered chairs. It smelled like machine oil and fried electronics circuits.

“Morning, sir,” said Sergeant Gordon, a cheerful woman sitting at one of the desks. “Morning, ma'am. Like our office? Used to be a supply closet. The commander gets his own office in Ops. They like him up there.”

Jodenny's gib pinged. “Excuse me,” she said, and saw that it was Dr. Ng on her ID screen. “I forgot a meeting. Can I take a rain check?”

“Rain or shine, we're here,” Rokutan said easily. “Come back anytime.”

Jodenny hurried down to F-Deck. Ng wasn't in his office. She wandered around the science maze until she saw him standing in a small conference room, getting berated by another scientist.

“—that's not what you're funded for, Harry,” the woman was saying. “Keep your eyes on your own work, and for god's sake give up these conspiracy theories.”

Jodenny tiptoed away and waited a few minutes. When Ng did return to his office he had red cheeks and looked miserable. “Oh,” he said, when he saw Jodenny. “Come in.”

Ng had revidded his walls so that the Pleiades star cluster covered the overhead.
The Seven Sisters,
Jodenny noted. “Everything all right?” she asked.

“Yes. Fine.” Ng's attention was solely on his deskgib. “I tried calling you. Those runes. They could be from the Wondjina.”

“You said they weren't.”

“They're not the kind of runes we're used to seeing inscribed on Sphere archways.” Ng turned the deskgib screen so she could see it. His shoulders relaxed a bit as he warmed to the topic. “There are thirty-two distinct markings in that alphabet, most of them simple vertical and diagonal hash marks. Symbols that would have been easy to carve into trees and stone to convey short messages—things like ‘This way to the village.' Pre-medieval Vikings on Earth had a similar system. Of course, we don't have any kind of Rosetta stone, so no one knows what they mean. We do believe that beings we call the Wondjina built the Spheres, and maybe made the Little and Big Alcheringas, so they would have needed another alphabet to communicate complex messages—engineering logs, scientific research, things like that. The Vikings had another alphabet, too.”

“No one's ever found another Wondjina alphabet.”

“True. Except for the Spheres, all traces of their civilization have vanished. But about forty years ago an old woman named Mary Dory told the police that she walked into a Mother Sphere near Arborway on Fortune and walked out of a Mother Sphere on some other planet. This was back when people still hoped that Spheres might hold treasure, or dead pharaohs, or all the secrets of the universe. She was as drunk as a skunk when she talked to the police, though, and no one else who visited the Sphere found anything amiss, so it got filed as a piece of urban legend. Twenty years later it was documented in a thesis by a graduate student specializing in modern folklore.” Ng tapped on his deskgib, indicating the pie-shaped symbol. “The student found this same symbol in Mary Dory's diaries.”