The Outback Stars

CHAPTER


ELEVEN





R

emember, Lieutenant,” Holland said the next Saturday after-noon as Jodenny trammed over to the Rocks. “The wardroom Hail and Farewell begins in ninety minutes.”



“I know.” Jodenny had been considering ducking out on the affair, but as she disembarked and made her way across T6’s access ring she couldn’t think up a good excuse. Two hours, she promised herself: enough time to make an appearance, then escape back to the peace and quiet of her cabin.



Once in T6, she saw Strayborn and Hosaka upsynching in the command module. Someone in an EV suit was tugging a DNGO to-ward the docking cradle. Jodenny went straight down to the base. Lange, who was supposed to be manning the lower safety controls, was sitting with his feet up playing Izim.



“Miz Scott!” He pushed back and nearly caused the chair to fall over.

“You scared me.”



“Give me that gib.”



Lange grimaced and did as ordered. She killed the program.



“Hey—” he said. “I mean, Miz Scott—that was my best game yet.”



Jodenny said, “You can get this gib back after you go see Chief Nitta and get a counseling chit. Now go up to the control module and send someone else down here.”



Lange stormed away. Jodenny pinged Nitta and told him what she’d done.



Nitta asked, “You sure that’s a good idea, taking someone’s gib away?”



“He’ll get it back. When he comes to see you, tell him he has to write a five-hundred-word essay on ‘Why I Shouldn’t Play Games on Duty.’“



“Ma’am?”



“You heard me.” Jodenny cut the connection.



Ishikawa came down from the command module wearing a wary expression. She saluted. “Ma’am!”



“AT Ishikawa, you don’t salute onboard ship unless you’re wearing your uniform cover. Where’s Sergeant Myell?”



Ishikawa gestured upward. “One of the dingoes got stuck in the slots again.”



Jodenny craned her head. She could barely see the glimmer of Myell’s EV suit. “How are things going for you?”



“Ma’am?”



“Is your job what you expected it to be? Are you enjoying your off-duty time?”



“My job’s okay, Lieutenant. I didn’t really expect having to do so much drudge work. But don’t get me wrong—it’s better than a lot of other departments.”



“And off-duty?”



Ishikawa shrugged.



“There’s talk that you might be doing kasai.”



“Oh, Lieutenant.” Ishikawa rolled her eyes. “People say that be-cause I go out a lot. There’s nothing wrong with that, right? Some-times my dates buy me stuff because they like me.”



“That’s more or less what kasai is all about.”



Ishikawa turned bashful. “Lieutenant, it’s not like that.”



“It’s not against regulations to do it,” Jodenny said, “but people will still look askance at it. Think about the long-term consequences to your career.”



“Oh, I don’t plan on having a career,” Ishikawa said earnestly. “I’m getting out of Team Space as soon as my contract’s up. Who would want to do this all their life?”




Jodenny watched Myell’s efforts to retrieve the lost DNGO for as long as possible. His communications were terse and unhappy-sounding. She wondered if he was the kind who got nervous in the slots. Finally she went back to her cabin, dressed in her formal uniform, and trudged over to the Flight Deck. Lines of birdies and Fox fighters had been neatly parked against the bulkheads to make room for banquet tables, three large buffets, two wet bars, and a deejay. The launch doors were closed and decorated with flags and streamers. Most of the ship’s four hundred officers were already circulating with wine and hors d’oeuvres in hand. Music played from the Flight Ops booth overhead. Francesco, Zeni, Hultz, and Weaver were admiring a large blue and gold cake.



“It’s about time you showed up, Jodenny,” Zeni said. “We thought you had a hot date.”



“With who?” Jodenny asked.



Hultz smiled. “How about Commander Rokutan? He’s very cute, though maybe not so smart.”



“All elbows and knees.” Weaver sipped from her wineglass. “How about the SUPPO? Man of mystery—”



“Enough,” Jodenny said. The last thing she needed was a rumor of anything between her and Al-Banna, who had a wife living over in T2. Rokutan was a different matter, though. His awkwardness was appealing, those elbows and knees charming. Funny how a man so fluid on the soccer field could be so klutzy off it.



Hultz gave her a wicked grin. “Quenger.”



“More than enough,” Jodenny warned.



“Where is our Davy boy lately?” Zeni asked. “He’s hardly ever around.”



Weaver shrugged. “I think he’s still dating that teacher.”



Zeni lifted some sushi from a tray. “I think he’s still sulking over not getting Greiger’s job.”



Quenger showed up a half hour later and circulated through the room, shaking hands and slapping shoulders. He didn’t look like he was sulking at all. Jodenny stayed by the bar and sipped her beer. The old Jodenny—the predisaster Jodenny, her younger and untainted self—would have been eager to make friends and connections, to start establishing the ties that might make or break her career on the Aral Sea. But having a mentor hadn’t saved Jem from losing his life. Being respected by her peers hadn’t saved Dyanne from being crushed.



At nineteen hundred hours the captain arrived. Umbundo asked,

“How’s Underway Stores, Lieutenant Scott? You’ve had an entire fortnight to clean the place up.”



“It’s fine, sir. I’m enjoying it very much.”



“She’s a great addition to the department, sir,” Quenger added, ap-pearing at Jodenny’s elbow as if by magic. “We really enjoy having her.”



Umbundo’s gaze narrowed. “Quenger, is it?”



“Yes, sir,” he replied.



“I hear good things about Disbursing,” Umbundo said.



“Yes, sir,” Quenger said, though A. J. Francesco ran Disbursing.



A ringing bell announced the beginning of the evening’s festivities. Seven officers were being hailed, including Jodenny, Osherman, and Dr. Moody. Five others were being farewelled, ready to disembark at Mary River for new duty assignments or civvie jobs. The hails came first, with the honorees sitting on stage. Umbundo himself spoke for Osherman.



“Commander Sam Osherman comes to us out of tragedy, but we’re extremely lucky to have him. Ever since he put on his lieu-tenant’s bars, he’s made a career of terrorizing junior officers.”



Laughter from the assembly. Jodenny didn’t smile. When it was her turn, Al-Banna spoke without jokes.



“Lieutenant Jodenny Scott graduated from the academy in the top one percent of her class. She earned her Supply pin two years later, and worked in Underway Stores and Maintenance on the Yangtze. For her heroism and quick thinking during the disaster, she was awarded the MacBride Cross.”



Respectful applause followed. Jodenny kept her eyes locked on the far bulkhead. The last hail was a lieutenant from Ops, and once that was over she followed Osherman off the stage so quickly she nearly tripped into him.



“Steady,” he said.



Jodenny pulled her arm free. She didn’t need his help or his touch.

“I’m fine.”



“Let me buy you a drink,” he said. “God knows I need one.”



She didn’t want anything from him, but Osherman was already or-dering two Scotches from the bartender. Osherman’s gaze swept the crowd. “I should have scheduled myself for a watch.”



Jodenny couldn’t resist. “You know you love this.”



“You really think so?” he asked.



On the stage, Umbundo gave a faux leather briefcase to a depart-ing commander from Flight. Jodenny tried not to brood over the fact that Jem’s and Dyanne’s farewells had been funeral services. She pictured the Yangtze’s flight decks as they currently existed—dark, stripped bare, ice-cold.



“There’s a scientist onboard who’s been asking questions,” she told Osherman. “He thinks the explosion had something to do with the Wondjina Spheres.”



Osherman’s lips thinned. “Dr. Ng?”



“He talked to you?”



“I told him he’s full of shit.”



“Here you are!” Vu hooked her arm around Jodenny’s. “Come cut the cake.”



After the cake-cutting, Jodenny told Vu she was going to the head. Instead she went straight back to her cabin. She stripped off her uniform, curled up in her bunk, and tried not to think about the Yangtze even as her mind circled back to blood and death. She wished she had Greiger’s bottle of brandy from her office. She wished she had gone down with her ship. No. She wished instead that the ship hadn’t gone down at all.



The door pinged. Jodenny threw on a robe and opened it.



“You skipped out early.” Quenger waved a bottle of champagne and two glasses. His tie was loose, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal a smooth chest. “Thought you might like a private celebration.”



“With you?”



“We got off on the wrong foot.” Quenger’s gaze dropped to the top of her robe. “I just want to be friends.”



“I have enough friends.”



“You can always do with more.” He leaned closer, his dark eyes in-tent. “Maybe the tension you feel when you’re around me is roman-tic. Maybe we should try it and see how we could be good with each other.”



She leaned forward and said, “If you try to kiss me, I’ll grab your balls and twist them until they break off.”



Quenger laughed but backed away. He waved the champagne bot-tle at her. “Oh, Jo. You don’t know. How far we could go—”



Jodenny shut the hatch.



The next day was Sunday. Jodenny slept late and ran into Francesco in the E-Deck gym. He was working out on a treadmill be-side a blonde woman in green shorts.



“I took your advice,” Francesco asked. “It is nicer working out down here than the officers’ gym. Have you met my Chief Vostic?”



“We met the day you checked onboard,” Vostic said.



Jodenny remembered the lifepod incident all too well. “Nice to see you again.”



She did five kilometers on a machine, and after showering went to Underway Stores. Sunday routine didn’t shut the ship down, but working hours were reduced and Mrs. Mullaly for one, had the whole day off to spend with her family. With Caldicot on watch, Jo-denny had the whole office to herself and uninterrupted stretches to wade through paperwork. The AT evals had come back from the SUPPO’s office with a few corrections to be made. Sergeant Rosegarten had sent an imail saying the Loss Accounting report on Myell’s DNGO was still waiting to be signed by the Security Officer. It occurred to Jodenny that it was taking an abnormally long time. Around lunchtime Holland said, “Lieutenant, I was talking to Ensign Hultz’s agent and she said someone had queried her about you.”




“Who?”



“Dr. Ng from Space Sciences. He had queried me, but I refused to answer.”



“Why didn’t you tell me before?”



“Your security setting is medium, Lieutenant. You asked not to be disturbed—”



Jodenny’s hands fisted. “Set it to high and ping the bastard.”



Dr. Ng answered with a distracted air. “Yes?”



“Dr. Ng, I’m filing that complaint I warned you about.”



“Complaint?” Ng blinked owlishly “But why?”



“Do you deny trying to get information about me out of my agent?”



“It’s not what you think—okay, look, here. Watch this, will you?” An animation flickered on the screen. She recognized the Point Elliot Spheres. Ng said, “Point A is the center of the triangle they form. If we zoom out to Point B, that’s the Wondjina drop point. If you draw a line from A to B—and look, here comes the Yangtze on its standard approach, which means you’ve got to maneuver a little, since you have to hit the drop at the right angle or skip over it entirely—okay, here! T6 swings around into the path of the Point Elliot track first— watch this. T6 explodes, parts of F-Deck are breached—”



Jodenny closed her eyes, unable to bear looking at it. “It’s a coinci-dence. It doesn’t prove anything. Even if your data is correct, ships have been using the Alcheringa for more than twenty years now. I’m sure sometime, somewhere, ships departing Kookaburra have crossed this ludicrous track you’ve drawn.”



“They have!” Ng said. The animation on the screen had frozen. “I’ve re-created at least ten journeys where ships cross lines between the Alcheringa and a set of Spheres, and none of them have ever re-sulted in an explosion until the Yangtze. Maybe something in her T6 was different or special—something in the hold, or the ammunition or explosives, or maybe something that wasn’t even on the official manifest. Team Space just wants us to think it was the CFP.”



The animation rewound on the screen and started to play again.



Unable to speak anymore, Jodenny hung up. The animation van-ished into the milky darkness of her deskgib, leaving behind only the memory of a tiny ship on its way to destruction.



* * * *