The Outback Stars

CHAPTER


TWO





J

odenny took the last remaining aisle seat beside a sailor whose nametag and insignia identified him as Able Technician Cardoza. Myell maneuvered into the window seat of a row up ahead, and she was disappointed that they couldn’t sit together. As a member of the Supply Department he could give her all the most current gouge. Cardoza, who wore an Ops patch, wouldn’t know much gossip at all.



“Would you like the window, ma’am?” Cardoza asked. “I can move.”



“I’m fine, thank you.” The window wasn’t real anyway, just an-other vid.



The sailors on the birdie ignored the prerecorded safety announce-ments and talked right over the launch countdown. As the engines roared to life Jodenny gripped the armrests so hard her fingers went numb. Kookaburra receded beneath their wings and the artificial gravity kicked in. A DNGO rolled down the dirty carpet of the aisle to sell refreshments. Jodenny paid for a bottle of marsala tea and some onigiri to settle her stomach.



“How long have you been aboard, AT Cardoza?”



“About a year. This is my first run.” He eyed her patches. “You’ve done three, that’s great.”



Two and a half, actually. She’d earned her first two Alcheringa patches the hard way, each run taking about ten months. Jodenny’s third trip down the Alcheringa had been brutally cut short, as had the lives of seven hundred forty-nine sailors and civilians. The terrorists of the Colonial Freedom Project had seen to that.



Cardoza adjusted the vid screen. “Is this okay? I always like that first glimpse of the ship. Kind of reminds you how big she really is.”



The image of the Aral Sea grew larger. She was identical to the Yangtze, both of them built in Fortune’s orbital shipyards, each freighter twelve decks high and longer than three soccer fields. Attached to Mainship by an umbilical shaft was the ship’s promenade, and at-tached to the promenade were twenty cylindrical towers, each a self-contained cargo hold crammed with colonists, equipment, supplies, and families of the Aral Sea’s crew. Most of the towers were destined to be towed away and replaced at one of the Seven Sister planets far-ther down the Alcheringa.



“You don’t think there’s going to be any problem, do you, ma’am?”



“Everything will be fine,” Jodenny said. “It’s not going to happen again.”



Halfway to the Aral Sea she went to wash up in the head, and when she came out she bumped into another sergeant from the Supply De-partment. “I’m Tony Spallone, ma’am,” he said, a smile pasted on his face. “You must be here because of Lieutenant Commander Greiger. Too bad about him, eh?”



“What happened?”



He grimaced. “Car accident. A shame, really. I hope he makes it.”



Jodenny heard sympathy in his voice but Spallone’s gaze was shifty, insincere. She saw that Myell had stood up to stretch and had his eye on the both of them. “What division do you work in, Sergeant?”



“Maintenance/HazMat, ma’am. Great place. All the divisions are straight up except for Underway Stores. That was Lieutenant Com-mander Greiger’s division. Not his fault, mind you, he got stuck with some bad apples. Dicensu, Ishikawa, Myell—I shouldn’t say any more.”



“No, you shouldn’t.” Spallone had no doubt watched her and Myell board together. “I’ll see you around, Sergeant.”



She returned to her seat. Myell had sat down again, and the back of his head told her nothing. Jodenny unwrapped her onigiri and ate her way to the marinated kelp at its center. The ship’s Supply Officer had the discretion to put anyone he wanted in charge of Underway Stores. Surely he wouldn’t fill it with a junior officer such as herself. With any luck at all she’d be put into Flight Support, which was much more exciting and interesting. Underway Stores sounded like a trou-bled division, and she didn’t need any more problems than the ones she already had.



* * * *



T

hat first whiff of the Aral Sea’s air—clean but recycled, cool and faintly scented with machine oil—should have kicked her in the stomach. She expected it to, and stepped off the birdie in the Flight Hangar braced for a flood of memories. To her surprise Jodenny felt only a bit of disorientation as the other passengers cleared a tempo-rary security barrier and began to disperse. The hangar was large and well organized, busy with equipment and Flight personnel, and not conducive to casual lingering. Once past the barrier Jodenny decided to head for the Supply Flats, but a blond ensign with pale skin blocked her way.



“Hi, I’m Clara Hultz. You’re Lieutenant Scott, right? I’m supposed to show you around. First stop’s the bridge, because the captain wants to see you. Then I’ll take you to the Flats and you can meet Commander Al-Banna. He’s the new SUPPO. Well, not so new now. Are you hungry? Nothing’s really open on Mainship but I’m in charge of the vending machines, so I know where the best ones are. Oh, and we’re going to be working together. Isn’t that great?”



Hultz stopped to take a breath.



“I need to drop off my things,” Jodenny said.



“I’ll have someone take it down. Hey, Sergeant Spallone, could you—”



“Never mind.” Jodenny tightened her grip. I’ll keep it with me.”



“You’re sure? Okay. Let’s go. I hardly ever get to go to the bridge—”



Jodenny followed the chattering ensign down the passage. The Aral Sea’s black and gray color scheme was similar to the Yangtze’s, but the matting on the decks was a little darker, the lettering on signs larger. The ship’s air and drive systems hummed in the background, punctu-ated by occasional comm announcements. She noticed that the Yangtze was the one thing that Hultz wasn’t talking about, and was grateful.



“—and I’m supposed to be done with my quals already, but things have been busy since the Commander Banana came onboard—”



“Commander who?”



“I mean, Commander Al-Banna. He took over after that big prob-lem with Commander Matsuda. They say the department’s having a bad run of luck and I guess Reggie proves that—poor guy went off the road and was trapped for hours before someone found him. Dave Quenger’s excited, though, because he’s going to get the DIVO job. The commander practically said so.”



The parade of names was making Jodenny dizzy. “Did you say we’re going to be working together?”



“Unless they give you Quenger’s old job in Maintenance, but you don’t want that.”



“How about Flight Support?” Jodenny asked. “Who’s in charge there?”



Before Hultz could answer, the lift doors slid open to a bridge iden-tical to the Yangtze’s. Dozens of consoles formed a semicircle around the towering mainscreen. Twice as many personnel monitored every aspect of Mainship and the Towers. Back at Alice Base, almost every-one had been appallingly young. The Aral Sea’s bridge was full of sea-soned sailors, crisp and serious as they readied the ship for launch. Overlooking the bridge were the captain’s office and, high in the domed overhead, a totem in the shape of a gum tree, a naval tradition since Captain Jackie MacBride and her heroic crew first slid down the Little Alcheringa.



A swarthy Master-at-Arms confronted them, checked their badges, and inspected Jodenny’s bag. Only then were they allowed to cross a gangplank toward the captain’s suite. Below them, a swarm of techs gathered to fret over an Ops station. Someone at Drive ordered new specs. When Jodenny stopped to let a regular technician roll a unit past she saw a tall, dark-haired, and regrettably familiar figure stand-ing down by the Data Department consoles.



Sam Osherman. Shit and spice. Of all the goddamned bad luck in the universe—



“Something wrong?” Hultz asked.



Jodenny had studied the ship’s roster on the P-train and Osherman’s name hadn’t been on it. What had she ever done to deserve such malign fate?



“Lieutenant?” Hultz asked. “You okay?”



Quickly, before Osherman could look up and see her, Jodenny forced herself forward. The captain’s inner offices were guarded by a round-faced aide who took her bag and said, “The Executive Officer’s not in, but Captain Umbundo wants to meet you.”



The modular furniture in the captain’s office was strictly shipyard design but autographed ASL soccer balls and framed jerseys from the Kookaburra World Cup provided a bit of color. Umbundo sat behind his desk, a sturdy man with dark skin and more than a dozen Alcheringa patches on his jacket. The only decoration on his desk was a Wondjina Sphere paperweight, and the only vid on the wall showed a live relay from the bridge.



“Lieutenant Scott reporting for duty, sir.”



Umbundo didn’t stand or smile. “Sit down, Miz Scott.”



She sat, and told herself not to wipe her sweaty palms on her slacks.



“My condolences on the loss of your friends and fellow shipmates,”

he said. “You can imagine our shock when we arrived last week and learned the news. It’s a terrible tragedy, one that will have repercus-sions for years to come.”



“Yes, sir,” she said. Information traveled one way down the Alcheringa, no faster than the ships that carried it. The news about what the Colonial Freedom Project had done to the Yangtze had yet to reach Fortune. “I’m sure you knew people aboard as well, Captain.”



“I did.” He didn’t elaborate. “How was your stay on Kookaburra?”



“There are worse places to convalesce, sir.”



“And better places?”



The wall vid’s volume was turned down, but Jodenny could see a group of officers suddenly cluster around the Data panel. She said, “I’d rather not have needed to convalesce at all.”



“You’d rather have been killed?”



That stung, but Jodenny had expected something like it. “I’m not suffering from survivor’s guilt, Captain.”



“That ship was your first posting. You had good friends onboard. Friends that became family.”



“Yes, sir,” Jodenny said. Osherman was in the middle of the vid now, explaining something with an expressive wave of his hand. She forced herself to look away. “The orphanage on Fortune where I grew up was my first home. Team Space was my second, and my last ship was my third. But the CFP can’t make me afraid to go back into space and I’m not going to let the past interfere with the present.”



Umbundo gazed at her steadily. “I want you to take over Under-way Stores.”



Her stomach knotted. “Sir?”



“The position is usually billeted for a lieutenant commander, but we don’t have any to spare. Someone’s got to straighten out that mess down there. Do the job right, and it’ll be a solid step toward lieutenant commander. You up for it?”



The vid forgotten, Jodenny reviewed what Spallone had told her about bad apples and Hultz mentioning someone else already being promised the job. “I believe the SUPPO has another replacement in mind.”



“I’m not interested in the SUPPO’s idea for a replacement.”



There was really only one answer he wanted to hear, and Jodenny knew it. “Yes, sir. I’m up for the job.”



The comm pinged. The captain’s aide said, “You’re needed on the bridge, sir.”



Jodenny stood. Umbundo rose, shook her hand with a grip like iron, and said, “Good luck.”



“Thank you, sir.”



His gaze caught on her jumpsuit. “Where’s your MacBride Cross?

Don’t tell me you forgot to put it on.”



“Sorry, sir,” Jodenny said. She didn’t tell him that wearing the dec-oration made her feel like a fraud. She’d been told about her heroic actions, had listened to an admiral speak highly of her bravery, but her memory was a muddy collection of images and sensations: fire, pain, thick choking smoke. The doctors blamed a head injury, and had told her she might never fully recall what had happened. “I’ll make sure it’s sewed on properly.”



Osherman was standing by the aide’s desk when Jodenny stepped out of Umbundo’s office. He blinked at her in surprise.



“Lieutenant Scott,” he said, with a trace of Kiwi accent in his voice. His dark hair was a little shorter than she remembered, with strands of silver every here and there. Of course he wouldn’t color it. He was a few centimeters taller than she, with strong, handsome fea-tures and a freckle under the tip of his chin. She remembered other freckles as well, and the little birthmark on his shoulder blade.



Jodenny said, “Commander. You look well.”



“As do you.” Osherman’s gaze slipped to Umbundo. “Good after-noon, sir.”




Umbundo brushed past them. “This isn’t high tea, people. Get back to work.”



Osherman opened his mouth and closed it again. That had been cute, before—his tendency to start something and then think the bet-ter of it. Now it made him look like a fish suddenly bereft of oxy-genated water. Osherman followed Umbundo down to the bridge and the captain’s aide said, “Call if you need anything, Lieutenant Scott. Welcome aboard.”



Jodenny thanked him, took her bag back from Hultz, and headed toward the gangplank.



“So what did he say? I heard he’s strict—”



“Ensign Hultz, have you ever heard that silence is golden?”



Hultz frowned. “Do you really think that’s true?”



They went down to the Flats on D-Deck. Immediately beyond the lift was Ship’s Services, which included the mess decks, laundry rooms, barbershops, and other stores. Across the way was the division that oversaw the ship’s cleanliness, maintenance, and waste disposal. Standing at the crossroads of two passages, Jodenny also identified the offices for the officers’ wardroom, chief petty officer mess, and Colony Stores. Her own office, Underway Stores, would be down on G-Deck. Fronting the Supply Officer’s suite was a lobby manned by RT Bartis, who had bloodshot eyes and a wide nose.



“Welcome aboard, ma’am,” Bartis said. “Sorry about the Yangtze.”



Jodenny stiffened. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck to say the name of a lost ship?”



He didn’t even blink. “Sorry, ma’am.”



“Is Commander Al-Banna available?” Hultz asked.



“Hear the yelling? Any minute now he’ll start throwing those Cus-toms agents up against the bulkhead.”



“Commander Matsuda was never that loud,” Hultz said. “How about Miz Wildstein?”



“She’s refereeing.” Bartis brought out a ship’s gib and had Jodenny sign for it. “Your agent’s waiting for you to set up your preferences. I’ll let him or her know when the commander can see you. Here’s your check-in list—you have two weeks to visit each department and make sure they sign off. Your quarters assignment is cabin D12.”



A dark-haired lieutenant with a thick mustache and bright blue eyes was waiting for them when they stepped out of the SUPPO’s suite. He asked, “Clara, is this our new addition?” and without wait-ing for an answer reached out to shake Jodenny’s hand. “David Quenger, welcome aboard the best ship in the fleet.”



That was his first mistake. She had already served on the best ship in the fleet. “Jodenny Scott. Pleased to be here.”



“Wait until you’ve been onboard awhile,” said the redheaded man at Quenger’s side.



Quenger slapped his shoulder. “This is Kal Ysten. Unhappiest en-sign you’ll ever meet.”



Ysten shook Jodenny’s hand. “That’s not true.”



“Wait until you hear him start complaining, Jo,” Quenger said.



“Jo’s not my name,” she replied.



Hultz giggled. Quenger smiled even brighter. “Clara, if you’re busy, we could show Jodenny around for her check-ins.”



“It’s okay, David,” Hultz said. “I’m not busy.”



The constant and improper use of first names in public set Jo-denny’s teeth on edge. Just as she was about to tell Mr. Quenger that she and Miz Hultz would do fine, he reached over and touched her shoulder.



“Let’s do dinner tonight,” he suggested.



She removed his hand. “I’ll be dining in the wardroom tonight. Good day, gentlemen.”



Jodenny couldn’t resist a look at Quenger’s face as they moved away: still a smirk, but a confused one at that. He obviously wasn’t ac-customed to being turned down. Once out of earshot Hultz said, “You should get to know him. He’s really a great guy.”



“I already know his type.”



Jodenny followed Hultz into Supply officers’ country. She could have found her own way, but Hultz’s presence at least distracted her from the double vision that had started to bother her eyes. Yangtze. Aral Sea. Two ships, two fates.



“So what’s the story with Ysten?” Jodenny asked.



“Oh, I don’t know, he’s always miserable about something. No-body likes him.”



Jodenny’s knees weakened when they passed what would have been her stateroom on the Yangtze. The doorplate read A. FRANCESCO. Hultz continued to jabber on, and the image of the ensign wavered in Jodenny’s vision. She took a deep breath and refused to faint.



“Lieutenant? Jodenny?” Hultz sounded worried. “Spacesick so soon, eh? Don’t worry. I used to puke all the time. Here’s your cabin.”



Jodenny forced herself to focus on the hatch. The sign J. SCOTT

was already in place. She logged her thumbprint and voice into the door lock and walked inside to a small cabin filled with standard blue and gray furnishings.



“Dump your stuff and we can go grab a snack,” Hultz said.



“No, thanks. I think I’ll stay here for a while, get myself oriented.”



“You sure?” At Jodenny’s nod Hultz said, “Okay. I’ll come and get you for dinner. See you at eighteen hundred hours.”



After the ensign was gone, Jodenny began unpacking. She tried to remember everyone she’d met. Captain Umbundo. Clara Hultz, with her short hair and unfocused enthusiasm. That bloodshot tech who worked for the SUPPO—Bartis, that was his name. David Quenger, so incredibly full of himself. His unhappy friend Ysten. And Osherman, on the bridge. Jodenny went to her desk and accessed Core.



“Good afternoon, Lieutenant Scott,” a male voice said. “Would you like to set up your agent now?”



“No. Tell me when Commander Samuel Osherman reported on-board.”



“May first.”



Eight days earlier. “Where did he report from?”



“Alice Training Base.”



Nonsense. She had never seen him at Alice. Jodenny sat back in her chair. After a few minutes she leaned forward to check her imail. Standard messages had already started pouring into her queue. Rules for quarters, emergency procedures, boring bureaucracy… Where had Osherman been since the accident? Definitely not at Alice. She logged onto the ship’s message boards and scanned the several dozen listed topics. Thousands of messages from strangers, the chorus and chaos of a ship she knew so little about—



An alarm shrieked through the cabin, making her jerk away from the desk. General Quarters. The alarm that had started the night-mare on the Yangtze.



It was starting all over again, all over, all over…



* * * *