The Outback Stars

CHAPTER


EIGHTEEN





M

yell had spent a restless night in the open-bay enlisted bar-racks, listening to other men snore and fart and mumble. Intermittent sleep brought visions of Mother Spheres stretching off into the mist, their stones crumbled and covered with moss. Yel-low light followed, sending him spiraling into darkness and sickness. “Choose,” the shaman said, and the Rainbow Serpent hissed across the sky. By sunrise Myell was shaving bleary-eyed in a mirror, and at the spaceport he was first in line to board the birdie. Back on the Aral Sea he dumped his gear in his cabin. When he pulled out his mother’s jewelry box, Koo climbed up on the rock in her aquarium and peered down at it.



“I told her I didn’t want it,” he muttered.



Myell rested his hand on the box for a moment, then stashed it unopened in his locker and stretched out on his bunk. He could still feel the enervating effects of the yellow light, the weakness that made his bones feel like water. For the first time he let himself dwell on what they had found. A secret transportation system. A whole new Alcheringa. But he didn’t think it had been meant for mankind. Grab-bing his gib, he started skimming Aboriginal mythology for references to the Rainbow Serpent. Some called it Almudj, others Ngalyod or Uluru, and many believed it was the bringer of rain, growth, and all fertility. The Great Creator.




Crazy, mitzi stuff.



But if he was nuts then Jodenny was, too. Myell remembered carrying her back to the flit, her body soft and warm in his arms. He had wanted to sweep her away for good, to someplace where regula-tions held no sway. But she wasn’t Kay, wasn’t someone he could hold and love, and it was hell to keep torturing himself.



Though he was dead tired, he pulled on his sneakers and headed for the gym. A few hard kilometers on the treadmill and maybe he’d for-get what it was like to have had Jodenny in his arms and not be able to keep her.



* * * *



J

odenny spent the day holed up in her cabin, inputting everything that had happened on Mary River into an encrypted log. She included the destruction of the warehouse robot and spending the night on Myell’s farm, but didn’t write down how Myell made her feel, or the way she’d wanted him to come to her door in the middle of the night. Of their remarkable trip she put in every detail she could remember: the feeling of the hard yellow light, the sickness it caused, the line of the broken Mother Spheres. Jesus Moon Christ, she might be sitting on the most amazing discovery since Jackie MacBride and the Little Alcheringa.



“Holland,” she said, “has anyone ever found Wondjina Spheres in formations other than Father, Mother, and Child?”



“No, Lieutenant,” Holland replied.



Jodenny sketched out the symbols that had been inscribed within the ouroboros. “Can you identify the symbols on my gib?”



“They don’t match anything in the ship’s databases.”



She didn’t know whether to be disappointed or even more excited.

“Do they match any known instances of Wondjina runes?”



“No. Wondjina runes are usually straight lines, without any curves.”



“Analyze the pictures I uploaded of the ground. Do you see any-thing other than dirt?”



Holland was quiet for a second or two. “Lieutenant, are you joking with me?”



“No.”



Holland saw nothing that Jodenny didn’t see. No ultraviolet im-ages, no images invisible to the human eye. She had bagged and stowed her boots at the bottom of her locker for later analysis. Chances were that any mud, grass, or microbes she had picked up on that other planet weren’t in any way unusual from those normally found in the Seven Sisters, and she couldn’t think of any easy way to get samples tested. Supply lieutenants didn’t have access to that kind of equipment or resources.



But ship’s scientists did. Jodenny pinged Dr. Ng and waited for a callback, but her queue remained silent. Perhaps she’d scared him off too effectively.



The ship departed Mary River early that evening. Dinner in the wardroom was a busy affair, with everyone full of tales about how they’d spent their shore leave. “Didn’t you get to go down at all, Jo-denny?” Hultz asked, and Jodenny admitted yes, for a little while. Kal Ysten, she noted, didn’t put in an appearance at all. She sent him a note saying she expected him to be in her office at oh-six-thirty the next morning. He sauntered in just a minute or so late, his hair still wet from the shower.



“I don’t think Underway Stores is a good match for my abilities,” he said.



Jodenny shut down the vid she’d been reading about Major Jackie MacBride. “For someone who got fired from Food Services, that’s quite a bold statement.”



“I didn’t get fired.” The tips of his ears turned red. “It was a mutual decision.”



“I heard Lieutenant Commander Vu gave you your midterm coun-seling and you were failing in three categories.”



“I don’t think this is the best way to start working together, Lieu-tenant.”



Jodenny stood up. “We don’t work together. You work for me and you work for the people who serve under you. By tomorrow I want you to have memorized the names and faces of all division personnel. We’re going to quarters now, so you’ll get the chance to meet most of them anyway. For the rest of the day you’ll be visiting their work spaces and doing safety inspections.”



Ysten rolled his eyes. “Safety inspections? Is that the best use of my time?”



“Trust me.” Jodenny headed for the hatch. “You don’t want to know the other options I was considering.”



Everyone had made it back from leave safely, although Nagarajan was sporting a pink hair streak and Nitta had an unsightly hickey on his neck. Jodenny tried not to stare at it, but wondered if maybe that was part of the business he and Quenger had been up to on Mary River. Myell, in the back row as usual, had dark circles under his eyes and wouldn’t meet her gaze. Jodenny introduced Ysten and announced that he would be coming around to conduct the inspections. The divi-sion looked no more excited at the prospect than Ysten had.



In the lift afterward, Nitta asked, “You want company, Ensign? I can show you how everything works in Underway Stores.”



Jodenny shuddered at the possible heights of irresponsibility the two of them might reach if she sent them off together. “He doesn’t need company. You need to get those overdue COSALs into my queue.”



Nitta gave Ysten a wink. “Lieutenant Scott’s strict that way.”



She ignored him. Back in her office she grew concerned about Mrs. Mullaly, who had left a message saying she was at the doctor’s office and would be late to work. But when Mrs. Mullaly arrived mid-morning she had a wide smile on her face. “Guess what, Lieutenant! I’m pregnant. Eight weeks along.”



Caldicot gave her a hug. “That’s wonderful!”



Jodenny patted Mrs. Mullaly’s arm but held off on the hugging. The pregnancy had to have been assisted. Medical science still had a hard time extending a woman’s ovulation past menopause. “I’m very happy for you,”

she told Mrs. Mullaly, though for herself she couldn’t imagine midnight feedings or arranging child care or dealing with all the stresses of parenthood. She was saved from further baby talk by a call from Master Chief DiSola.



“I’ve got good news, Lieutenant,” he said.



“You’re pregnant, too?” she asked.



DiSola gave her a quizzical look. “The ECP list was announced. Strayborn made it, as did Kesnicki in Food Services. I already called them both. Officer indoctrination starts this afternoon and will last just over two weeks.”



“This afternoon?” Jodenny tried not to sound too dismayed. The last thing she needed was to lose yet another member of the division. And once Strayborn was commissioned, there was no guarantee he would return to Underway Stores.



“There’s going to be a party tonight to celebrate,” DiSola said. “Hope to see you there.”



Jodenny hung up. She reminded herself that personnel problems were small and inconsequential compared to the larger issues at hand. She told Caldicot and Mrs. Mullaly that she’d be out of the of-fice for a short time, and headed off to find Dr. Ng.



The Space Sciences labs were on F-Deck. When Jodenny got off the lift she stopped, bothered by an odd uneasiness. She pushed the feeling aside, passed the officers’ gym, and for several minutes wan-dered around a maze of workbenches, labs, and cubicles, passing ge-ologists, astrophysicists, climatologists, and engineers, peeking into offices full of expensive equipment and colorful charts. She located Ng in a tiny corner warren that was scrupulously neat. Star vids cov-ered all the walls—nebulae and comets and galaxies, blue and white and sparkling in the absence of overhead lights. A large tropical fish tank sat on one table, casting shimmering light through the room.




“Dr. Ng,” Jodenny said from the hatchway.



Ng rolled back from his desk. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”



“I need to talk to you.” Jodenny moved inside and waited for the hatch to close. “I’ve done some checking. You have a doctorate in as-tronomy, specializing in the structure and destruction of globular star clusters. You’ve published in very good journals on Fortune, and your research on galactic tides is widely lauded. But you’re also an ama-teur archaeologist, and have participated in some unorthodox public discussions about the origins of Spheres. Some might call you a Wondjinologist.”



Ng stood up, crossed to the aquarium, and lifted a small part of its lid.

“The usual term is ‘crackpot.’“



Jodenny sat down in a chair. The Large Magellanic Cloud spun lazily over her head. “You’re on record as saying there’s no way the Spheres could have been some kind of transportation devices.”



Ng shook some fish food into his hand. A dozen gold and silver fish swam up in anticipation. “That’s truly an unsupported theory. No one’s ever found any kind of technology in the Spheres—not under them, not in their stone walls, nothing, nowhere. There’s never been anything found at all except for the structures themselves and their runes.”



“Isn’t that odd?” Jodenny asked. “If they were sites of religious worship, you’d expect to find things like broken wine jugs or sacrifi-cial offerings. If they were places where people actually lived, you’d dig up bowls or utensils. They’re not tombs because there are no bod-ies, and they’re not astronomical calendars because they don’t line up with things like solstices.”



Ng sprinkled the food into the fish tank. “Congratulations, Lieu-tenant. You just summed up the great mystery of our age. What are they, and who exactly built them?”



“I met someone who claimed to have traveled through a Sphere to another planet.”



“I’ve met people who claim the Wondjina have kidnapped them and beamed them into spaceships for colonoscopies. It’s not as rare as you would think.”



Jodenny offered him a piece of paper. “How about these symbols?

Ever seen them?”



Ng secured the aquarium lid and took the paper. Instantly he said,

“They’re not Wondjina runes. Where did you see them?”



“Someone found them in a Sphere.”



“Did not.”



Jodenny folded her arms. “Did so.”



He stared at the symbols a moment longer. “I may have seen something similar. Give me some time to dig around.”



“We have plenty of time,” Jodenny said. They hadn’t dropped into the Alcheringa yet, and it would be almost a month before the Aral Sea reached Warramala. “But just so you know, I still don’t believe in your theories. Those symbols have nothing to do with what hap-pened to my ship. I just figured you’d appreciate a good mystery.”



Distracted, Ng sat at his desk and began typing on his deskgib. ‘I’ll call you.”



Maybe later, if he proved himself trustworthy, she would tell him about the ouroboros and ask him to get her boots analyzed. But for now Jodenny would settle for any information she could get, so that her report about the trip through the Mother Sphere would be complete.



* * * *



O

ne of the Class IIs had damaged herself in a collision on level thirty-six, and none of the other DNGOs were successful in extricat-ing her. Come midmorning Myell climbed into an EV suit to do it himself, even though he was fuzzy-headed from staying up late read-ing. He’d had no idea how many tribes had constituted Aboriginal Australia, how many overlapping and divergent beliefs they held. He might actually have to seek out an expert to make sense of it all. Chaplain Mow led the ship’s Gagudjun services and was the most ob-vious choice, but he was hesitant to call her. Once he started talking he might not be able to stop, and would confide in her the story of what he and Jodenny had found in the Mother Sphere.



“Everything’s locked down,” Hosaka said over the comm. “You’re clear to go.”



He powered down the shaft and entered the slots. Memories of his last trip were still sharp enough to keep him peering over his shoulder every now and then. He didn’t see any suspicious movement, but his torch made odd shadows on the slot bulkheads: a curved shape like a snake, a silhouette like the shaman’s head. The Class II, Airmid, ap-peared up ahead with one of her grappling hooks stuck in a bin grating.



“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 accu-sation. 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 Main-ship 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 go-ing 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 Com-mander 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 danc-ing. 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 hand-hold, 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 stand-ing 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 in-stead. “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 mem-ories of Baiame.



* * * *