The Outback Stars

CHAPTER


TWELVE





A

T Kevwitch, returned from the brig, had to bend over to keep from hitting his head on overheads. Jodenny decided he might be handy to have around if she ever needed someone to rip open a bulkhead with his bare hands. AT

Barivee had a coiled tenseness that made her uneasy. AT Yee looked mortified when Strayborn repri-manded him for scuffed boots at morning quarters.



“Sorry, ma’am,” he said to Jodenny.



“They’re just boots,” Barivee muttered.



Jodenny gave him a hard look. “There will be no sloppy uniforms in this division.”



Strayborn went through the roster. Nitta read the list of daily announcements and told everyone to get their requests in for Mary River liberty. Her thoughts on Ng and his crazy theory, Jodenny al-most missed it when Nitta gave a pointed reminder about not playing games at work. She ignored Lange’s glare and signaled for Amador and Ishikawa to haul out the boxes she’d brought down with her.



“When I first came onboard, I told you that we’re a team doing a job together. I thought it would be nice if we had something that il-lustrated that. I’m not telling you that you have to wear these, but I hope you do and remember who your teammates are.”



Amador and Ishikawa started handing out the T-shirts. The sports shop had done a good job with the Underway Stores emblem and she’d made sure that everyone’s name was spelled correctly on the back. The sizes had been easy to pull from the uniform records.



“Are these dingoes?” Chang asked, holding his shirt up to scrutiny.



“Never saw robots with muscles like that,” Gallivan said. “Or shit-eating grins!”



“Dicensu drew it,” Jodenny said.



Dicensu blushed. “It wasn’t too hard.”



Myell took his with a blank expression. Nitta, who had told her he didn’t see the point, threw his over his shoulder and said, “I’m off to a Menu Board meeting, Lieutenant. See you.”



Jodenny saw Lange hold out his shirt and mutter something to Barivee. Both of them snorted in private amusement. Dicensu might have overheard the comment, because his expression fell. Caldicot patted his arm and said, “I think they’re great, Peter. Will you auto-graph mine?”



Bless Caldicot’s heart. Dicensu perked up immediately. Jodenny decided to ignore Lange and Barivee. As the division drifted off to work, she asked Strayborn and Myell to stay behind.



“I like them.” Strayborn held his shirt at arm’s length. “No other division has them.”



“That’s what I thought,” Jodenny said. Myell stayed silent and in-scrutable, which annoyed her. “How’s the May inventory coming?”



“The numbers are going to be good,” Strayborn said. “Ninety-four, maybe ninety-five.”



“Good,” she said. “Every month, we’re going to do better.”



Later that morning she went off to the Shore Leave Briefing, where she was pleasantly surprised to see Danyen Cartik.



“You still owe me five yuros,” he said.



“I’ve been looking to pay you off but you’re never at lunch.”



“You know how Data is,” he said, but didn’t sound convincing about it.

“I’ve been swamped.”



After the room had filled with representatives from the various departments, Lieutenant Commander Senga from Security got up to give a review of restricted areas in Mary River’s capital city of New Christchurch. His gaze slid coldly past Jodenny as he detailed bars where drugs or venereal diseases were known to be prevalent, shops that sold illicit material, neighborhoods where unsuspecting crew members might find themselves at the wrong end of a knife. The re-view took exactly thirty seconds.



“Not a very exciting place, is it?” Cartik said to Jodenny.



“Not if you like fun.”



His eye twitching, Senga said, “Tell your people to remember to dress appropriately. They shouldn’t get drunk or rowdy in public, and be careful of public displays of affection.”



“What’s the punishment for spitting on the sidewalk?” someone drawled.



Senga grimaced. “Don’t ask. Homosexuality is legal, they can’t do anything about that, but it’s frowned upon. Last time we visited, we had four instances of TS crew being harassed. I don’t want anyone missing movement because they’re stuck in jail for fighting or on some trumped-up morals charge.”



“What about demonstrations?” someone asked.



Senga smiled humorlessly. “We don’t think the CFP will dare. They’re strong on Mary River, but there’s still a lot of backlash. They don’t want the media attention.”



Jodenny let her mind drift to Ng’s rubbish theory. She drew the Point Elliot Spheres and a small picture of the Yangtze on her gib. When the meeting broke up she asked Cartik, “Are you going planetside?”



“Wouldn’t want to risk a morals charge,” he said with a trace of bitterness.



She wondered if that was the cause of his disenchantment with Data. Some departments were less tolerant than others, despite strict rules about sexual orientation harassment. “Well, then, how about lunch on Friday? I know a good cafe on B-Deck.”




“I’ll be there,” he said.



On her way back to the office she swung by Supply crew berthing aft of the Flats. The rug in the lounge had seen much better days. The big-screen vid was cracked at one corner and the sofas had stains of suspicious origins. No one had emptied the garbage recently. Jodenny went down the passage to Lund’s door and rang the bell.



He answered wearing his pajamas. “Ma’am!” he said. Behind him, Jodenny could see Izim open on his deskgib.



“You weren’t at quarters, so I brought you this.”



Lund examined the T-shirt she handed him. “Thank you, Lieu-tenant. I have a chit from my doctor for bed rest. I sent you a copy.”



“I understand. You need your rest. I think you’d better scoot your-self into bed, though. You don’t want eyestrain, do you?”



“No, ma’am,” he said.



“I’m going to send Sergeant Strayborn around this afternoon to make sure you’re all right,” Jodenny said. “And Sergeant VanAmsal at dinnertime. Maybe I’ll ask her to bring you some soup.”



“I don’t want to bother anyone.”



Jodenny patted his arm. “You’re not a bother. You’re a member of this team. Oh, and before I forget, I’ve set you up with three highly recommended doctors on Warramala.”



“Three?”



“We have to pinpoint your ailments,” Jodenny said. “You need help.”



Back in her office she tried not to gloat too much over the memory of Lund’s crestfallen expression. She sent Nitta an imail telling him to schedule berthing inspections for the end of the week. No sailors of hers were going to live in squalor. When she turned on her gib she saw the Wondjina Spheres she’d sketched.



“Holland,” she said, “pull up the navigational logs from my last ship and plot its last flight for me. See if you can establish any rela-tionship to the Point Elliot Spheres on Kookaburra’s surface.”



“In accordance with Dr. Ng’s theory?” Holland asked.



“Have you been eavesdropping?”



“It’s not a secret, Lieutenant. Dr. Ng is not held in high esteem by his peers in the Space Sciences Department. Though this is only the first of three deployments he signed on for, there’s speculation his contract will be terminated at the end of the deployment.”



“Re-create the data on your own and run a comparison against his,”

Jodenny said.



A few seconds passed before Holland filled the deskgib with data.

“My projection of the Yangtze’s track matches Dr. Ng’s. But in the ab-sence of other evidence, his hypothesis is illogical. Just because the ship crossed such a hypothetical track does not mean the explosion is somehow related.”



The animation stayed in Jodenny’s thoughts. She was rewatching Holland’s version the next morning before the DIVO meeting when Al-Banna walked in and said, “I hope you’re not playing Izim, Lieu-tenant.”



Vu coughed. Wildstein squinted at Al-Banna as if trying to decide if he were joking.



“No, sir.” She put her gib aside.



Wildstein asked, “Was it really necessary to confiscate RT Lange’s gib?”



“Yes, ma’am,” Jodenny said. “The whole division was warned, and he was playing while there was a hazardous operation under way in the tower.”



“Bet he took it well,” Vu said.



After the meeting Al-Banna said, “Lieutenant Scott. Wait one minute.”



Both Al-Banna and Wildstein had grim looks on their faces. She braced herself, expecting more bitching about Lange’s gib, but after the room was clear Wildstein said, “Did I or did I not tell you that you couldn’t spend your division funds on T-shirts?”



“I didn’t, ma’am,” Jodenny protested.



“You bought the shirts,” Wildstein said. “I saw two of your people wearing them on the Rocks last night. How did you pay for them?”



Jodenny was happy to hear at least someone was wearing them. “I’d rather not say.”



Al-Banna tapped his fingers impatiently. “Answer the question, Lieutenant.”



She supposed there was no avoiding it. “I asked the Morale De-partment for the funding, but they said no. So I did it myself.”



“You paid for all of them?” Wildstein asked.



“Yes, ma’am. While I was in the hospital, I was still pulling space pay—anyway, it’s just a small gesture from me to the division. But I thought you might like your own, too.”



From the bag she’d brought she pulled out the shirts personalized for Al-Banna and Wildstein. Wildstein grimaced, but Al-Banna un-folded his and held it to his chest.



“Good fit,” he said. “But you’re not paying for mine, Lieutenant. I’ll transfer the yuros to your account. Ten? Fifteen?”



“No, sir,” Jodenny said. “It’s a gift.”



“You don’t give gifts to your superior officers,” Al-Banna said. He walked out admiring his shirt. Wildstein said, “I heard you wanted to conduct berthing inspections.”



“Yes, ma’am. I asked Chief Nitta to schedule them.”



“Berthing cleanliness isn’t your concern. Some of the other offi-cers have complained about the prospect of you inspecting their sailors.”



Who had complained? Quenger, she bet. Jodenny squared her shoul-ders. “The cleanliness of the common areas directly affects my people, ma’am. Last time I walked through there, the lounge was a pigsty.”



“It’s still not your jurisprudence,” Wildstein said. “If there’s a prob-lem, I’ll see to it. I’ll inspect the lounge Friday at oh-eight-hundred.”



“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”



“I’m not doing it for you.” Wildstein passed back her T-shirt. “And you can keep this. Give it to someone who’ll wear it.”



* * * *



M

yell rose early, worked out for an hour, and swung by the mess deck for breakfast. Judging by the posters, overvids, and other color-ful displays, it was time to celebrate Dragon Boat Week. Gallivan, Minnich, and Amador were in one booth, laughing at a joke. Chiba was in another, guffawing with some of his dogs. Myell sat far from all of them and skimmed over the May inventory while shoveling through his oatmeal. The numbers were definitely better than they’d been for April. As he forwarded them up to Strayborn a shadow fell across his table.



“Trouble in Underway Stores?” Spallone asked with a smirk. “Poor little things having their gibs taken away by Miz Scott?”



“Only if they’re dumb enough to get caught playing Izim on duty.”



Spallone leaned forward. “I hear it’s all your fault, anyway. Scott only got pissed because you were in the shaft when she caught Lange. You’re her favorite. Are you f*cking her? The two of you sneaking off to the slots to fool around?”



To go from being the department scapegoat to Lieutenant Scott’s favored child would be too ironic. Myell brushed past Spallone and took his tray toward the scullery. When he turned the corner Chiba was blocking his way.



Chiba said, “Sit down. Let’s chat.”



Sitting meant listening to old threats and new crap. “Get out of my way.”



“I just want to talk. Maybe admire your brand-new T-shirt.”




“You can kiss my ass,” Myell said.



Chiba shoved him off his feet. The breakfast tray went flying and Myell landed with a solid thwack against his tailbone. Worse than the physical shock was the humiliation as people turned toward the com-motion and a DNGO whirled their way, intent on claiming dirty sil-verware and sweeping up crumbs. He decided he didn’t care anymore what they might do to him for assaulting a chief, and scrambled to re-gain his footing and swing a punch. But then Chief Roush, the Assis-tant Food Services Officer, wedged himself between Myell and Chiba and demanded, “What’s going on here?”



“He lost his balance and fell,” Chiba said. “Floor must be wet.”



“Sure it is,” Roush said. “Get out.”



Chiba wagged a warning finger. “Careful. You wouldn’t want to slip, too.”



“Out,” Roush repeated. Chiba left with his dogs in tow. Roush asked Myell, “You hurt?”



“No.” Myell brushed bread crumbs from his coveralls. He could feel something wet on his backside and hoped the stain wasn’t too obvious. F*cking Chiba, f*cking all of them.



Roush patted his shoulder. “They’re a*sholes. Best thing to do? You take Chiba down below and beat the shit out of him.”



“Great idea, Chief. I’ll look into that.” Myell left before Roush could offer any more helpful advice. He went to T6 for morning quarters and hid until the last minute, unable to bear seeing Gallivan or the others who had witnessed his humiliation. Jodenny made some announcements, Nitta added something irrelevant, and Strayborn said that the ASUPPO would be inspecting the lounge at the end of the week. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought. Didn’t anyone on the ship realize there were more important things to worry about than inspections?



After quarters, Gallivan snagged his arm. “Chiba’s a swipe. You know that, right?”



“He’s a swipe who people believe.”



Gallivan grimaced. “Not him. They believed Ford.”



Her name still caused Myell’s gut to churn. Before her, he had never known exactly how much trouble a man could get into based on one woman’s accusations. “You believed her.”



“No,” Gallivan. “I never believed her. But for a while… well, for a while it seemed safer to mind my own business. No one knows what really happened to the old SUPPO, right? And with Chiba and Greiger running things… I’m sorry. It was the wrong decision.”



He sounded contrite, but Myell wasn’t so eager to forgive. Before he could say so, Jodenny called his name. How she had already managed to hear about the fracas was beyond him, but as Gallivan slinked away and Jodenny approached he steeled himself for questions or a lecture.



“Yes, Lieutenant?” he asked.



“How’s the inventory going?”



“It’s in Sergeant Strayborn’s queue, ma’am. Looks like ninety-five percent.”



“Good. Anything else exciting going on?”



“No, ma’am,” he said. “But I don’t think the ASUPPO should in-spect our lounge. Officer berthing doesn’t get inspected. Why should ours?”



“Because the officers are keeping their common areas clean.”

Jodenny cocked her head. “When I walked through yours the other day, it was filthy.”



Abrupt weariness washed through him. F*ck Team Space, anyway.

“Yes, ma’am.”



After everyone had cleared out of his tower he settled down in the control module for a few hours of upsynching. Circe had come back from the shop with a new battery and showed no errors at all, but as a Class II named Hera synched he saw a thousand duplicate records. Myell traced the glitch back to Core, reported it to the duty techs, and waited for them to reboot the appropriate subroutines. Lunch was a cold sandwich from a vending machine. His only visitor was Strayborn, who showed up with the leave roster in hand and took an interest in Hera’s problem.



“How long have you been waiting for the reboot?” Strayborn asked.



“Two hours.”



“Data techs. All they do is sit around on their asses.” Strayborn studied the roster. “Is this right? You’re taking a week when we get to Mary River?”



“Yes.”



“Going hiking?”



“Visiting family.”



A beep on the deskgib alerted him to the reboot. Hera came back online and began uploading again. Strayborn stuck around to watch the datastream.



Myell said, “The duplicates have cleared, but now she’s missing ten minutes of her log.”



“Ask for another reboot,” Strayborn said.



If Jodenny hadn’t made her new rule, Myell might have wasted the next two hours playing Snipe. He almost did it anyway. Instead he skimmed practice questions for the chief’s exam he didn’t intend to take. No doubt VanAmsal had already spent months in preparation, but as he keyed through questions about regs, procedures, and more procedures he scored moderately well. When Core signaled that the subroutine was reset, he ordered Hera to upsynch again. She dashed up and away into the slots.



“Get back here,” he said, but she didn’t respond to his orders. He checked Core, but no tasks had been sent her way. He turned on the tracking monitors but she didn’t register, and when he pinged her transponder he got no response. “Where did you go?”



After several minutes he had Core reboot her. Hera’s transponder began blinking on level ten. He recalled her to the command module and she floated up to hover outside the window. Myell upsynched her and saw that the records matched Core exactly.



“That’s pretty convenient,” he told her.



Myell had Hera report to the base of the tower. He locked her down with a restraining bolt and tugged her to his bench. There were fresh scratches on her hull, but that was no surprise. DNGOs were al-ways scraping themselves against the bins. Her access plate was also loose. That was an easy fix, but didn’t explain her vanishing act.



“Time for a full diagnostic,” he told her.



His gib beeped. “Go over to IR2,” Nitta said. “Chang’s sick, Gallivan’s gone off to stand watch, and there’s no one else to cover. Lieu-tenant’s really pissed.”



Myell hesitated. It was possible that Nitta was setting him up again for another assault. He fingered his pocket server and went over full of trepidation, relaxing only when he saw Jodenny herself manning the issue room. She looked irritated, though not at him. She said, “I need you to deliver these orders, Sergeant. The uniforms are for Lieu-tenant Deven, these boots are for Lieutenant Coswell, and the sheets go to Lieutenant Pearson. Don’t dawdle.”



Dawdle. Myell never dawdled. He did, however, keep his eyes down as he hurried through the passages. He remembered stumbling into officer country by accident on his first cruise and the tongue-lashing he’d received. A former shipmate had been court-martialed for being caught in Ops officer berthing. Of course, the man had also been hav-ing an affair with an ensign, and so he was also court-martialed for fraternization. The ensign had been, too.



No one was home in Deven’s cabin. Coswell was sleepy-eyed and took his new boots with a grumble. Myell was approaching Pearson’s cabin when a tall officer barreled out of a cabin without looking and knocked Myell backward. His head slammed into the bulkhead.




“Damn it!” the officer said. “Are you all right?”



Myell’s vision filled with stars. Beneath the domed sky, a harsh desert stretched far and flat to the horizon. A snake as large as a mountain flicked its massive tongue to the beat of ancient drums and consciousness faded, faded, faded away.



* * * *