The Outback Stars

CHAPTER


TEN





M

yell’s gib beeped late the night the ship dropped into the Alcheringa.



“I’m sorry they hurt you,” Shevi Dyatt said, her eyes puffy. “Ish shouldn’t have said anything. Forget it, okay?”



Timrin was on watch again. Myell sat in the darkness with three pillows wedged behind his sore back and over-the-counter painkillers taking the edge off. On the desk, near a heat lamp, Koo amused herself in her splendid terrarium. He wondered how old Dyatt was—eighteen, nineteen?—and asked, “Is Olsson giving you pro-blems?”



Dyatt wiped her nose. “I don’t want anyone else to get in trouble. I’ll be okay.”



Christ, to be so young and so alone on a ship of five thousand people. He tried to remember where her cabin was. Past the lounge, past Gallivan’s place, near the lift somewhere. Near Olsson and Spallone. “Are you safe right now?”



“I think so. They’re at the shop.”



“At this hour?”



“I can’t tell Sergeant VanAmsal.” Dyatt’s shoulders hitched up as she started to cry. “And I can’t tell Security, it’ll just make it worse. I’m sorry you got hurt.”



“Meet me in the lounge,” he said. “Dress in civvies.”



“But it’s so late—”



“Just do it.”



Ten minutes later, standing alone in the dirty lounge with his head throbbing, he wondered if she’d changed her mind. When she came down the passage she was dressed in trousers and a maternity soccer shirt. One of her hands clutched tissues.



“Where are we going?”



“Chaplain’s office,” he said.



“But I’m not religious.”



“Doesn’t matter. Everything you say will be confidential and they can’t report any of it if you don’t want them to.”



He walked her up to C-Deck. The chapel adjacent was open twenty-four/seven, and while Dyatt sat trembling in a back row he pinged the Duty Chaplain.



“You don’t have to put up with it,” he said while they waited.



Dyatt averted her gaze. “I can take care of myself.”



“Shevi—”



“You know what really sucks about being an apprentice mate?” she asked. “Everyone above you gives you orders you don’t want to fol-low and advice you plain don’t want.”



Myell closed his mouth. The nondenominational chapel had been painted in soft pink and yellow tones and smelled like sandalwood. Myell didn’t believe in holy places, especially in the middle of star-ships sliding down the dark void of the Alcheringa, but he had to ad-mit that the colors and warm air soothed him, made him less skeptical about religion than usual. When Chaplain Mow arrived she looked sleepy but had a gentle expression on her face.



“I’ll take it from here, Sergeant,” she said as she led Dyatt toward her office. “Come back and visit sometime. It’s been a while.”



Myell nodded in acknowledgment but not promise. Back in his cabin he tried to sleep but rest was elusive, filled with Dyatt’s tears and Spallone’s fists and pain in his ribs every time he shifted on the bunk. What were Olsson and the others doing in the Repair Shop at such an hour? Long before ship’s dawn he got up, checked his imail, and surfed the ship’s message boards. A gym workout was out of the question but instead of going to T6 early he lingered on the Rocks. He didn’t want to see Nitta, who had set him up for the altercation in the issue room. But he wasn’t about to miss quarters, either. With just moments to spare he slipped into his spot in the back row. Dyatt’s place was empty.



“AT Lund.” Jodenny pulled Lund out of the lineup to confer off to the side.



“What’s that about?” Gallivan asked in a loud whisper.



Jodenny asked Lund something. He shook his head, but she in-sisted and in a moment he was sitting in a chair that Ishikawa pulled over from Myell’s workshop.



“Good grief,” Chang said.



Lund sat unhappily in his chair as Jodenny returned to the front of the assembly.



“Listen up,” Nitta said, reading from the plan of the day. “If you know a civvie looking for a job, have them contact Outsourcing dur-ing work hours. The Garden and Soil Committee’s looking for volun-teers and the MWR

Department still has slots open for field trips on Mary River.”



After standing in place for several minutes Myell’s vision began to gray around the edges, but then quarters was over and he was free to go to his workbench. Gallivan followed him.



“Are you okay?” Gallivan asked.



“Never better.” Myell pretended to be busy fixing a circuit tester.



“Why didn’t you report it to Security?”



“Report what?”



“You were always stubborn, but I didn’t think you were stupid.”



“Leave it alone. When we get to Warramala you won’t have to worry about a thing.”



Gallivan grabbed his wrist and forced Myell to look at him. “You think you don’t have mates here but that’s not true. You shut us out.”



“Let the f*ck go,” Myell said, and Gallivan released his grip. Myell turned back to the DNGO and set to work on the access plate even though his hands were trembling. Maybe he did shut them out, but they’d shut him out first and some hurts were still too raw to be for-given. He said, “I’ve got work to do.”



Gallivan left with a muttered curse. Myell put down the screw-driver and closed his eyes at the approach of more footsteps.



“Myell,” VanAmsal said. “What’s going on with Dyatt?”



“How should I know?”



“Because you tried to tell me yesterday and I didn’t listen.”



“I don’t know. Go ask her.”



“Terry—” VanAmsal started, but when he didn’t respond she too walked away. Finally, some peace. He sat on his stool and braced him-self for the next visitor, Strayborn, who apparently shared the same grapevine as everyone else in the goddamned division.



“I heard you fell in the issue room,” Strayborn said. “You should go to Medical.”




“If I hear one more piece of advice I’m going to shove someone out an airlock,” Myell said. “That’s a promise, Gordon. So if you have some words of wisdom, if you think you know my situation better than I do, if you have some miracle cure for all the ills of this ship, do me a favor. Write a memo.”



* * * *



O

n her way to T6 that morning, Jodenny had received a ping from Chaplain Mow. Mow said, “I’d like for you to excuse AM Dyatt from quarters. She’s with me.”



“Is she all right?”



“She’s going to be fine.”



At quarters, Jodenny sensed an odd undercurrent in the division. Myell was grim-faced and VanAmsal seemed more tense than usual. Even Gallivan had lost his good humor.



“Sergeant Strayborn,” she said after quarters was over. “Is some-thing wrong?”



“Ma’am?” he asked.



“Something going on I should know about?”



“No, ma’am. Everything’s fine.”



He was probably lying, but Jodenny decided to let the situation stew until something arose out of it. She went up to the Rocks and to an apparel shop that sold sports shirts. The proprietor lis-tened to her request and gave her a quote that didn’t seem unrea-sonable.



“I’ll get back to you,” Jodenny said.



She trammed back to Mainship and tackled paperwork until the ASUPPO called her that afternoon. Jodenny went up to the Flats wondering what she had done to merit Wildstein’s attention and found Master Chief DiSola in Wildstein’s office.



“AM Dyatt is going to Ops,” Wildstein said without preamble.



“Why?” Jodenny asked. “Is she unhappy with Underway Stores?”



Master Chief DiSola said, “It’s a department thing. I already let Chief Nitta know.”



A department thing. Jodenny wondered how much Chaplain Mow had confided in either of them. She said, “I’ll need a replacement. While we’re at it, I could stand a few more ATs. Ship’s Services is ten percent overmanned but I’ve got three billets empty.”



“Take it up with Lieutenant Commander Vu,” Wildstein said.



“I think I could reduce that backlog if—”



“That’s all, Lieutenant.”



“Actually, ma’am, I have a request. I’d like to use some official funds to buy shirts.”



“Shirts?” Master Chief DiSola asked. “For who?”



“For my division.”



Wildstein said, “They get a uniform allowance. Let them buy their own.”



“I was thinking of something special, ma’am,” Jodenny said.

“Something to build unity. Maybe something with the Underway Stores logo on it.”



DiSola laughed. “Underway Stores has a logo?”



“I don’t care if it has a logo and a theme song.” Wildstein rose and grabbed a pile of folders. “You can’t use ship’s money for optional clothing.”



Deterred but not undefeated, Jodenny went to LD-G and watched from the command module while VanAmsal supervised Amador and a small contingent of DNGOs. The sergeant stomped up to the module saying, “Lieutenant, this is ridiculous. Lund’s in Sick Berth, Dyatt’s not here, and I’m getting two hundred shipments an hour coming through.”



“Pull Chang out of IR2,” Jodenny said. “Gallivan can handle it alone. You’re not getting Dyatt back—she’s going to Ops. Any idea why?”



“How should I know? No one tells me anything.”



“Take a moment and review your attitude, Sergeant.”



“Lieutenant, I can’t run my loading dock if you want to stand around and chitchat.”



With an attitude like that, VanAmsal might soon not be running a loading dock at all. Jodenny said, “Why are you so angry, Sergeant? It’s not Dyatt and it’s not the shipments, so if it’s me then we have a problem.”



VanAmsal stormed out of the module. Jodenny watched her get halfway down the stairs before reason took hold. On the loading dock floor, Amador sent two DNGOs to the conveyer belt and shouted a question Jodenny couldn’t hear over the rattle of machinery. VanAm-sal waited another minute before doing an about-face and coming back.



“I apologize,” she said with a face as hard as stone. “I was out of line.”



Jodenny closed the hatch. “Tell me what’s going on.”



“I think Dyatt’s been having trouble with her boyfriend. AT Olsson. Works in Maintenance. Myell tried to tell me about it but I wouldn’t listen. She’s a good kid and I haven’t done right by her.”



“Maybe you have or maybe you haven’t. You’ll have to ask her. What else?”



“I don’t think you’re handling the situation with Lund correctly. You can’t coddle him, Lieutenant. It’s what he wants.”



“Observation noted. Next?”



A muscle spasmed in VanAmsal’s cheek. “Lieutenant Commander Greiger had his faults but he didn’t interfere down here.”



“Maybe he didn’t care as much as I do,” Jodenny said.



“Lieutenant, caring is only going to end up making you disap-pointed. I’ve been here two years. I should know.”



“I can deal with disappointment. So can you. It’s the achievements we have to focus on.”



VanAmsal shook her head. “Being short another person isn’t an achievement. Hearing that I might be sent over to T6 isn’t a big thrill either. You can’t listen to everything Nitta and Strayborn tell you.”



The shrill ring of a DCS alarm ground operations to a halt. Jo-denny left VanAmsal and Amador to deal with breakdown and went to her office. She almost pinged Myell to ask what he knew of Dyatt’s problems but decided she had enough of her own and simply for-warded the personnel file to Ops. When Nitta showed up she said, “You told me you were going to run a spot check on the agroparts. Where is it?”



“Still working on it, Lieutenant. You didn’t say you were in a hurry.”



She allowed herself an uncharitable thought or two about how he’d ever gotten promoted, which reminded her of something else he’d neglected. “Strayborn’s got his hopes pinned on the ECP, but VanAmsal and Myell should be signing up for the chief’s exam. Double-check that their paperwork is in order.”



“I don’t think encouraging Myell is a good idea.”



“Why not?”



Nitta leaned back in his chair. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. “You know. He’s had some problems. People on this ship have long memories.”



So did she, and it occurred to her that Security had yet to route her a copy of the Loss Accounting report on the DNGO that had disappeared in Myell’s care. She made herself a note to have Holland call over and get it.



“And he’s not doing a spectacular job down there in T6,” Nitta added.

“There’s been trouble with the dingoes. He tries to fix them himself and won’t take them to Repair Services.”



“Maybe he’s trying to show some initiative.”



“You’re not thinking of doing anything rash, are you?” Nitta asked.



“Such as?”



“Like putting him in charge of anything. Morale will suffer if you started giving him preferential treatment.”




“Make sure he signs up for the exam,” was all Jodenny had to say. “I’ll worry about morale.”



* * * *



N

ow that the ship was safely cruising the Alcheringa, Jodenny made a list of improvements to make in her division, and brainstormed sev-eral ideas on how to change the Supply wardroom for the better. In the meantime she set up an exercise schedule for herself and started working out before breakfast each morning.



After flipping through the treadmill hologram choices she settled on a tropical beach routine. Palm trees tipped toward her in the salty breeze and golden sand kicked up from her every step. The vista was supposed to represent the North Island on Fortune, but she could have just as well been on pristine Earth, back before it had been ru-ined. She heard birds and the pounding of the surf but as she passed the two-kilometer mark all else was quiet—no overhead announce-ments, no ATs clambering for her attention, and no indication whatsoever that she was really in the middle of the E-Deck gym.



At the five-kilometer mark an alarm pulsed against her wrist. She took off the hologram glasses and earphones, slowed the machine, and took a long sip of water.



“Lieutenant.” Dr. Ng climbed on the treadmill beside her.



“Doctor.” Jodenny plugged herself back into the program for an-other two kilometers. She pushed herself until her thigh started to ache in earnest. When she disengaged Ng was still there, red-faced and gasping as he attempted one of the more difficult inclines.



Jodenny stepped down. “You don’t work out much.”



Ng wiped his face. “I hoped that if we had something in common, you might talk to me.”



She went off and showered in the women’s locker room. When she emerged, Ng was slumped on a bench with two water bottles in hand. He offered her one.



“Truce?” he asked. “I’m sorry if I upset you last time we met. I’m not some kind of ghoulish nut. I’m simply not convinced the Yangtze disaster was caused by the Colonial Freedom Project.”



“I disagree.” Jodenny made her way through the rows of machines to the exit, Ng at her heels.



He said, “The CFP haven’t claimed responsibility, which they usu-ally do. They had to know that destroying an entire freighter would harm their cause more than help it. The bad publicity will last for years to come. Team Space has yet to release any information on what kind of bomb was planted in the cargo hold, or explain how the CFP got around standard security. Those facts alone should make any reasonable person suspicious.”



Jodenny pressed the lift button. “Information on the investigation is classified. People a lot smarter than you or I are working on it, and I’m sure they’ve considered those factors.”



Ng’s gaze was intense. “But perhaps it wasn’t a bomb at all. I’ve been doing simulations, re-creating the Yangtze’s course and speed. The explosion occurred at a particular point in space that can be cor-related back to a set of Wondjina Spheres on Kookaburra.”



The damn lift was taking its time. “Correlated how?”



“There are fourteen triads of spheres on Kookaburra. That in-cludes the ones at Point Elliot, just south of Alice Training Base. Like all Spheres, when mapped from center to center, they form a perfect triangle.” Ng drew an imaginary line on the bulkhead. “If you extend a line from the center of that triangle to the coordinates of the Alcheringa drop point, it forms a track the Yangtze crossed at the same moment her tower number six exploded.”



So he was one of those Wondjina conspiracy nuts, sure that the Spheres and Alcheringa were all part of a grandiose alien conspiracy to enslave mankind. That no actual aliens had ever been discovered was irrelevant to their belief system. The lift doors opened and Jodenny stepped inside with relief.



“Don’t call me, Dr. Ng,” she said. “Don’t send me imail, don’t come to this gym, don’t even come near me on the mess deck. You’re as crazy as any of the dingbats back on Kookaburra, maybe even more so, because you’re supposed to be a scientist. If I hear from you again I’ll file a complaint for harassment.”



The doors closed on his crestfallen face, and she hoped that would be the last of him.



* * * *