The Stars Down Under

by Sandra McDonald

  Her eyes wide and dark, her cheeks flushed, she said, “Leave them on.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Socks are optional.”

  He peeled off the socks, twirled them over his head, and cast them into the corner. Jodenny used the tie to pull him down and he mouthed a trail from her breasts to her navel. She shifted, her breath fast, her hands tight on his hips. Her gaze was locked on his face.

  “Love you,” she whispered.

  “Love you more,” he said.

  Her fingers touched his waist and found the dilly bag. “You’re wearing this again?”

  Myell untied it and tossed it onto the pillows.

  Afterward, when they finally got around to dinner, they settled for cold sandwiches, sweet pickles, and vegetable chips. They played a little footsie under the table as she tried to worm more information out of him about Supply School. Myell described Captain Kuvik’s office, the well-equipped gymnasium, Sergeant Etedgy and AT Romero. He briefly related Senior Chief Talic’s lecture.

  “I don’t know how people keep from keeling over in boredom,” Myell said.

  “Did anyone give you a hard time about not going through chief initiation?”

  “The subject came up,” Myell allowed.

  She waited him out.

  He reached for another pickle. “There’s some hard feelings. But we expected that.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Also expected,” he said.

  Neither of them mentioned anything about the Wondjina Transportation System.

  After dinner they took glasses of wine to the new sofa. He was proud of that sofa. It had taken him three days of computer research and visits to four stores before he found one that fit perfectly. Jodenny wriggled her bare feet hopefully, and he took them into his lap. She searched through the drawer in the coffee table, pushing aside honeymoon brochures, and tossed him a small bottle of massage oil.

  “So,” he said, rubbing her arches with strong, steady pressure. “Anything else happen to you today?”

  “Is this an interrogation?”

  The windows were open to the fine summer evening, with the occasional whoosh of a flit and the hum of lawn-bots cutting grass.

  “I have my fiendish ways.” Myell concentrated on the shape and feel of her feet, the delicate toes, the well-shaped ankles. She had painted her nails a cheery shade of red. She knew he loved red on her toes.

  Jodenny’s breath hitched a little as he pressed more strongly. She said, “A woman came to see me from Fleet. She said her husband and eight other people are lost in the network. That the whole thing’s closed down.”

  He kept his head down, his hands moving.

  “You’re not surprised,” she said.

  “I had my own visitors.”

  “She’s desperate to find him. As I would be to find you, if you disappeared.”

  “I’m right here.” He gently tugged at each toe, rotating and soothing them. “Not going anywhere.”

  Jodenny cocked her head. “If you disappeared, I’d scream and scream until someone helped. Someone who knew about where you’d gone, who had experience traveling that path.”

  Myell squeezed more oil onto his palms. “They’ve been gone for months.”

  “Every minute would be like the first minute.”

  “And if there were other considerations?”

  Jodenny’s voice was very serious. “What’s more important than finding the love of your life?”

  The western sky was gold with sunset. Karl the Koala wandered out of the bedroom and climbed onto the coffee table. Very carefully Myell said, “Keeping to what we decided before. It’s not our business.”

  Her legs tensed against his thighs. Jodenny said, “Come here, Karl.”

  The koala cocked his head but didn’t move.

  “You don’t even know if they’re telling the truth,” Myell said. “It could just be a way for them to sucker in our cooperation. Since when can we trust anything they tell us?”

  “Since when don’t you care about helping someone who’s in trouble?”

  “All these months, you and I have known Sam Osherman was out there somewhere. But we agreed not to help when we were on Kookaburra and we didn’t do anything when we got back here. So how is that different?”

  Her gaze didn’t drop. “Because we believed the network was working. Because he took his chances by not listening to you. Sam knew what he was getting into.”

  “As did this team.”

  Jodenny swung her feet out of his grasp. “All we have to do is show up. Just go into a Sphere. If it works, they’ll take it from there.”

  “If it works, they’ll never let us be free of it. They won’t let us walk away, like they did last time.”

  “If they’re right, if somehow this entire network of ancient alien technology stopped working because of something we did, then we have a duty to assist any way we can. Won’t you help at all?”

  He took a deep breath. The cinnamon smell of the massage oil made his nose itch. “No.”

  “Then you’re not the person I thought you were,” she said, and left the room.

  He let his head loll against a cushion. In the months that they’d been married they had never once gone to bed mad. But there had been nothing to fight about on the Aral Sea, and nothing really to disagree on since they’d landed.

  “Jodenny!” he called out, but she didn’t answer.

  Myell told himself to get up and go make amends but he stayed on the sofa, instead, on the green sofa he’d picked out because she was too busy to help. The one he suspected she didn’t like. He played Izim until he fell asleep. The next thing he knew the vid was off, a blanket was keeping him warm, and Jodenny was crouched before him in the dark, shaking him awake. She was in uniform.

  “I have to go,” she said. “I got called in.”

  Struggling out of a dream he couldn’t quite remember, Myell drank in her sweet, floral perfume.

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  “You have a few hours,” she assured him, and brushed her warm fingers along his temple. “Terry, I’m going to talk to them some more. Just talk. I want to be able to say my conscience is clear on the fate of nine people I never met.”

  He caught her fingers. “Can I stop you?”

  “Can I stop you, when you set your mind to anything?”

  “Just talk,” he repeated.

  “Just talk,” she said. “I promise.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jodenny arrived at work a few minutes before sunrise. The blue pyramid of Team Space headquarters included an enormous atrium full of trees, waterfalls, cafés, and comfortable furniture. Cleaning bots were finishing up with the blue and gold carpets as she crossed to the transparent lifts. Admiral Mizoguchi’s command suite was on the sixth deck, where plastiglass windows overlooked the atrium’s descending terraces.

  “Thanks for coming in,” Lieutenant Commander Chow said when Jodenny showed up. Chow had pulled midwatch duty and was due to be relieved by an officer who had called in sick.

  “Not a problem.” Jodenny’s sleep had been fitful and uneasy. She’d dreamed of Sam Osherman fleeing through Spheres, in danger from some unseen menace. The call from Fleet had been a relief. “What’s going on?”

  Chow started going through a list. Admiral Mizoguchi was the area liaison for all the Fleet units located within the Kimberley region—a formidable lineup that included the basic training command, a half-dozen specialty schools, an airfield, a port operation, and intelligence, cryptology, and diplomatic units. The commands themselves had operational and administrative chains of command that made Mizoguchi just one of many higher echelons to report to, and Mizoguchi herself reported upward as well as sideways to other branches of Team Space. Jodenny and her co-workers were responsible for keeping her apprised, in charge, and capable of responding as needed to dozens of challenges a day.

  “Ready for the morning brief?” Chow asked.

  “Ready
as rain,” Jodenny said.

  The briefing was short and succinct. Admiral Mizoguchi, a short trim woman with bright eyes, asked only a few questions. Afterward, Jodenny assumed the day watch and settled in at her desk.

  “Thanks again,” Chow said. “See you later.”

  Come midmorning, once business settled down a bit, Jodenny used her clearance as part of the admiral’s staff to look up Anna Gayle in the Team Space Directory. Gayle was listed in the Research and Development branch with an office on Rathbone Street. Her contact information matched the one on the card she had given Jodenny, as did her picture.

  Master Chief Paulie, who was the admiral’s senior enlisted adviser, had an office down the hall. Jodenny knocked on her door and asked, “Can you spare a moment?”

  “Sure, Commander.” Paulie turned from her gib. Her office was a soothing oasis of blue and green, with pictures of her daughters on the vidded walls. “What can I do for you?”

  Jodenny closed the door. “I wanted to check on someone who works in Research and Development. Beyond gib numbers and security photos.”

  “You could ask your agent to run a classified query. You’ve got the clearance.”

  “I don’t think what I’m looking for would be in any database.”

  Paulie templed her fingers together. “Is this for personal reasons?”

  “No,” Jodenny said. “Strictly professional. But nothing to do with the admiral or her jurisdiction.”

  Paulie’s gaze was inscrutable. “I’m not sure I can be of help.”

  “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble, Master Chief. If I knew how to do it on my own, without drawing attention, I’d do it. But I think I’d cock it up. And then I’d bring attention to this office.”

  Paulie smiled. “That’s your persuasive argument? You want me to help you so you don’t embarrass the admiral?”

  “It’s worth embarrassing an admiral or two,” Jodenny said solemnly. “It’s worth a lot more than that. I’m just not sure who to trust.”

  “You can trust me.”

  Jodenny shook her head. “You don’t have clearance for this.”

  “I have a top-secret clearance, Commander.”

  “I know, Master Chief.”

  Paulie played with her pen. “If you leave me the name I can make some informal inquiries, but I can’t promise anything. I will need a promise in return.”

  “What kind of promise?” Jodenny asked cautiously.

  Paulie was obviously choosing her words carefully. “If you do get involved in a matter over your head, that you let the admiral or myself assist you.”

  Jodenny figured that a promise like that contained a lot of leeway. She gave Paulie a slip of paper with Anna Gayle’s name on it. Back at her desk, thrumming with nervous energy, not fully able to focus on her work, she glanced every now and then toward Paulie’s office. Lunchtime came with no word. Early afternoon dragged by, nothing. Finally, when Jodenny’s watch was nearly over, Paulie pinged her desk and asked her to step in.

  “Dr. Gayle has an extremely high security clearance and a sterling reputation.” Paulie tapped her fingernail on a printed sheet of paper. “She’s been working for Fleet for four years, has a long trail of academic accomplishments, and is married to Dr. Robert Monnox, equally accomplished and respected. Does that help?”

  Jodenny let out a careful breath. “It establishes her credentials. Thank you.”

  “Remember, Miz Scott. You’re not alone in whatever this matter concerns. Can I count on you to ask for assistance when you need it?”

  “Absolutely,” Jodenny said.

  Once she had turned the watch over to her replacement, Jodenny went to a public kiosk on Sydney Boulevard. Gayle answered the ping immediately.

  “I hope you’ve agreed to help us,” she said, her gaze direct and unblinking.

  “I’ve agreed to hear more,” Jodenny said.

  “May I send a flit to pick you up?”

  “I’ll come on my own.” She told herself that Myell couldn’t begrudge her visiting Gayle’s office. Checking out the department. Not agreeing to anything without consulting him.

  And if he didn’t agree?

  Jodenny headed for the train.

  * * *

  On his way to work that morning, Myell got off the monorail early and walked six blocks along Water Street. A farmers’ market had set up for the morning, vendors already selling fresh fruits and vegetables. He maneuvered through the crowds and portable stalls, inhaling the aroma of breakfast crepes and waffles. A young Aboriginal girl unloading paintings from a flit nearly dropped some, and he stopped to help.

  “Thanks,” she said, as Myell eased the paintings to the ground.

  “No problem.” Myell eyed a large landscape in which a solitary gum tree held sway over a red plain. “You do these yourself?”

  The girl ducked her head shyly. She was short and thin, her dress loose on her shoulders. “No, sir. My mom and aunties, they do them.”

  Another painting made him pause. A crocodile, gray-green and enormous, snarled on the banks of a river. Its teeth looked sharp enough to rip off Myell’s arm.

  “Not very nice, is he?” Myell asked.

  “Crocs aren’t nice or mean.” The girl met his gaze with eyes as gray as the reptile’s. “They just are, right?”

  “I suppose,” Myell said.

  One last painting caught his eye. A lone black vulture whirled over a grassy plain, homing in on animal corpses lying below. Something about the painting made a rough chill go through him.

  “Jungali,” the girl said.

  “What?” Myell asked sharply.

  “Jungle cats,” the girl said, indicating the corpses. “Lions.”

  Myell couldn’t bear to look anymore. The market had grown too crowded, too loud. He hurried toward Supply School. The smell of the ocean made him nauseated. He went to his little basement office and sat there for two hours until Sergeant Etedgy knocked on his door, looking apologetic.

  “Captain sent down some work for you to do,” he said. Two ATs bearing boxes of loosely bound regulations followed Etedgy in. “He wants you to check the LOEPs on these and requisition any that we need.”

  The sailors put the boxes down on the deck. Myell didn’t bother to point out that coordinating Lists of Effective Pages was a job any clerk could do. Instead, he offered Etedgy a bland smile. “No problem.”

  Once the sailors were gone Etedgy said, “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Not to be too frank, Chief, it’s a shit job.”

  “But it’s all mine,” Myell said.

  Kuvik had made the job more interesting. Half the books had split their spines, spilling their contents into jumbles of dusty, tattered paper. He must have dug deep in his closet to find them. No one consulted paper regulations anymore, not when databases could easily be consulted and cross-indexed again.

  “Mine,” Myell repeated, once he was alone.

  Fifteen minutes before the first-period lunch, he went over to the mess deck and was first in line for the food. The faculty wardroom was empty and sparkling clean. Myell plunked his tray down at the center table and began to eat at a leisurely pace.

  Two lieutenants arrived soon after and immediately went to a table in the corner. A gaggle of ensigns came in and claimed a rectangular table. Two chiefs who were part of Senior Chief Talic’s clique came in with their trays, halted when they saw Myell at their table, reversed course, and chose to sit elsewhere.

  Senior Chief Talic arrived next.

  “You weren’t invited to sit here,” he said in a low voice over Myell’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Myell said, loud and pleasant. “You wanted to welcome me to Supply School? Thank you, Senior Chief Talic. I’m happy to be here.”

  The ensigns and lieutenants looked their way and murmured among themselves. Talic put his tray down so hard that the silverware rattled. He took the seat opposite Myell.
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br />   “Did you have a good morning in class?” Myell asked.

  Talic ignored him.

  Myell pitched his voice louder again. “I asked if you had a good morning—”

  Talic’s glare was murderous. “It was fine.”

  “My morning was good, too,” Myell confided.

  Senior Chief Gooder, short and squat with the shoulders of a weight lifter, took the seat next to Myell and offered his hand. “My twelve-year-old daughter and her friends have a vicious little clique in school, but we’re worse. Welcome aboard.”

  “Frank,” Talic said, “you know what this is about.”

  Gooder shook out his napkin. “Yes, yes, standards, principles, pull the other one, why don’t you? He’s the only one at this entire command with a Silver Star on his uniform, so he must be doing something right.”

  Two other chiefs eventually joined them. They weren’t as friendly as Gooder, but not as frosty as Talic. The table by the aquarium filled up with Captain Kuvik’s secretary and other staff, some of whom gave Myell speculative looks. The conversation at the chiefs’ table centered on Saturday’s graduation, and some controversy over the AT who had been chosen as class speaker.

  “Should have been based on grades, not personality,” Talic argued.

  “Best grades only means someone’s good at taking tests,” Gooder said. “Doesn’t mean the person’s articulate, or can hold the interest of a crowd.”

  “Tradition,” one of the other chiefs said. “You’re not going to convince Captain Kuvik to do it any other way than it’s always been done.”

  “What do you think about tradition, Myell?” Gooder asked, a gleam in his eye.

  Myell took his time answering. “Some are good. Some are outdated.”

  Talic jabbed a fork into the air. “Tried and true. It works. You don’t go changing things on a whim, or because someone cries to their mommy, or because someone has a nervous little fit.”

  Myell wasn’t about to point out that tradition was what had killed that chief-designee on Kookaburra. Everyone at the table surely knew the story. Dehydration, overexertion, a heart attack. It wasn’t the first accidental death during a hazing ceremony but it was supposed to be the last. The initiation procedures for chiefs had changed radically after that, and had become “optional.” Somewhere over at Fleet, Myell’s former shipmates from the Aral Sea were no doubt still discovering that “optional” abuse was no less humiliating than the nonoptional kind.