The Stars Down Under

by Sandra McDonald

  It seemed a shame for such a healthy family to leave Fortune for the debased and ruined Earth, and Jodenny wondered if the mothers were missionaries. She couldn’t imagine giving up the clean air of Fortune for the gray ashy skies of Earth, not without a damn good reason.

  An old woman sitting behind Jodenny said, “It doesn’t look very big.”

  “Large enough for a hundred crew and twice as many passengers,” said the old man with her. “Don’t worry. You’ll find a drinking buddy or two.”

  The woman said, “Bastard,” but she didn’t sound vehement about it.

  “Yes, but I’m your bastard, aren’t I?” he replied.

  Jodenny squeezed her eyes shut. She’d supervised sailors in the middle of divorces, sailors in acrimonious relationships, and it always appalled her how cruel married people could be to each other. She and Myell hadn’t even had a serious argument yet, though they’d disagreed about Gayle’s experiment, and gone to bed angry—

  She should have listened to him, of course. Should have run from Gayle at first sight. Maybe things would be different now. Maybe not.

  Thirty-four stations. A minute or two transit between each station. Just over an hour to make a complete loop, but of course they would have to stop for rest and food, and exploration, and who knew what kind of trouble they’d get into on far-flung worlds while they searched for Commander Gold’s team.

  “Do you trust him?” Fisch had asked, as if that had ever been in doubt. She believed Myell would do what was expected of him, that he would conduct himself with honor and courage, and that he would do everything he could to fulfill his promise to come home.

  But the Sphere technology was unknown, Gayle and Nam harbored their own agendas, and the worlds they were visiting might be awash with lava, swept by dust storms, rocked by earthquakes. A thousand things could go wrong, and Myell was all alone. No, of course not, not alone. But solitary and quiet by nature. Uncomplaining. If he got sick or hurt he might not make a fuss, and they might overlook him.

  She told herself that he was more than capable of taking care of himself and had been since he was eighteen and a runaway from an abusive home life. Besides, Nam wouldn’t be in charge if he weren’t at least competent.

  Still, her eyes felt suspiciously watery. What kind of example was she setting as a military officer?

  But today she was a civilian, and maybe a civilian woman could get a little teary-eyed at the prospect of not knowing where her husband was, what kind of danger he might be in, and if he’d ever return.

  “We’re here,” Farber said, as the birdie docked with a clamping noise. “I won’t tell you the trip will go fast, but maybe it won’t be as long as you think.”

  Every minute will be an hour, Jodenny almost said, but that was too melodramatic.

  The docking lounge was a long, low compartment that badly needed fresh paint and a carpet cleaning. The green plastic chairs were scratched and dented. Warning vids on the wall listed prohibitions against bringing weapons or alcohol onboard. One by one the passengers had to file through security checkpoints, which Jodenny found annoying. They’d already been screened back on Fortune. Two security techs, both of them sergeants, checked passenger identification and ticket status.

  The family with the two mothers and four children were the Frasers. The bickering couple who had been sitting behind Jodenny were an elderly couple named the Zhangs. Jodenny’s gaze slid over the other travelers, noting a businessman furiously typing on his gib, two women with government-issue briefcases, and an Aboriginal man wearing a black suit and a white minister’s collar. Most seemed patient at the long wait to pass through the checkpoint, though the Fraser children talked eagerly about exploring the ship and the Zhangs were bickering about their cabin.

  “It won’t be big enough for all those smelly socks you brought,” Mrs. Zhang said.

  “Or for your extensive shabby wardrobe,” Mr. Zhang replied.

  “Next,” one of the techs said, and Jodenny stepped forward.

  “Ellen Spring.” Jodenny placed her thumb on an antiquated scanner and stared into a retinal device. Part of her hoped that the ship’s database would access Team Space records and flag her true identity, but Captain Fisch’s people would have already thought of that wrinkle.

  “Occupation, Miss Spring?”

  “Librarian,” Jodenny replied.

  “Business or pleasure trip, miss?”

  “Pleasure,” she said tightly. “First time.”

  The sergeant cocked his head, as if something about her features was familiar. Jodenny knew that vids of her had been on the civilian news channels and in the military media outlets. Celebrated survivor of the Yangtze, savior of the Aral Sea.

  Recognize me, say my name, she urged silently.

  “Cabin D-25,” he said, instead. “Take the lift over there up three decks and follow the signs. Here’s your PIC. That’s a Passenger Information Card. Keep it with you at all times. It’s how you pay for meals and anything else you purchase onboard. If you lose it, you’ll have to get a new one.”

  Jodenny took the card. “Thanks so much.”

  “Sometime after launch we’ll be having a safety drill,” he said. “Your lifeboat assignment is on your PIC. Stay calm and follow directions, and you’ll be fine. Also be sure to read the emergency information on the hatch in your cabin. That’s what we in Team Space call a door.”

  She almost said, And you are what we in Team Space call an idiot.

  Jodenny waited for Farber to pass through Security. They took the dim, oily-smelling lift to D-deck. The passageway had four burned-out overhead lights and the signs, once polished, were smeared with fingerprints and grime. Their cabin was a well-worn compartment with two single bunks, two lockers, and a shower unit that leaked into a dark, foul-smelling drain.

  “It’s moldy,” Jodenny said. “Captain probably hasn’t conducted an inspection in months.”

  “Which bed do you want?” Farber asked.

  One bunk had a rattling air vent over it, but the other had a vent that was completely blocked. Jodenny preferred the rattle. She shoved her bag of civilian clothes into the locker and said, “There. All unpacked. I’m going to find some coffee.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Farber said.

  “No,” Jodenny replied. “I refuse to have you shadowing my every step for the next two weeks. Captain Fisch gave me direct orders. I may not like them, but I’ll follow them. It’s bad enough we have to share a cabin. I’m not going to let you control everything I do or everywhere I go. Understand?”

  Farber’s face flushed. She took a step forward and put her hand flat against the hatch.

  “Just so we’re clear, Commander, I’m not the one who lied to your husband and then dragged him off into the network. I’m not the one willing to sacrifice everyone and everything to find a control station that may or may not exist. My little girl turns five years old next week. I had to call her and tell her Mommy can’t be there for the party we’ve been planning for a month. The last place I want to be is on this crappy ship babysitting you for the next two weeks. So if I want a cup of coffee, I’m going to get a goddamn cup of coffee.”

  Jodenny nodded a little. “So you do have some feelings in there. I was wondering about the stoic act.”

  “Yes,” Farber said grimly. “I have feelings.”

  “Good. Now we know where we stand. Let’s get this trip over with.”

  Farber let her hand fall from the hatch. “The sooner the better. Find us that coffee, Ellen.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Kamchatka’s passenger galley was antiquated and dingy, with a dirty brown overhead and several cheerless tables and benches bolted to the deck. Jodenny decided that the Food Service Officer should be ashamed of himself or herself. Couldn’t manage a fresh coat of paint or new floor tiles? The crew galley was probably no better, and the ship’s wardroom was probably an embarrassment. Jodenny scanned a row of prominently displayed pictures and saw that the Fo
od Officer was a young ensign named Fila Sadiqi. Ensign Sadiqi wore a head scarf and a dour expression, as if she knew exactly how terrible her facilities looked.

  A dozen passengers were already in line, food and drinks balanced on gray plastic trays. Steam drifted out from the kitchen, where a tall, red-faced cook was supervising two DNGOs.

  “Miserable machines!” he was bellowing. “Can’t even boil an egg without blowing a gasket!”

  The DNGOs, two old class IIs, spun in midair and made little squeaks.

  Jodenny eyed the battered coffee urn dubiously, but siphoned some into a cup and took a cautious sip.

  “How bad is it?” Farber asked.

  It was easily the best coffee Jodenny had ever had on a Team Space ship. Dark and complex, not too bitter, richly roasted, with a caffeine kick that already delighted her tired brain.

  “Like burnt sludge,” she told Farber.

  Farber moved on, grumbling, to get some tea.

  The cold case held a surprising mixture of sushi, fresh wraps, dark green salads, and luscious-looking desserts. Jodenny rapidly reassessed her opinion of Ensign Sadiqi. She grabbed a cucumber roll and sweet-potato chips and went to the self-service checkout. Her PIC card recorded the cost. Two of the older Fraser daughters were using another machine, but a whiny beep-beep-beep indicated that they were having problems.

  Ensign Sadiqi herself came out of the kitchen, making a tsk-tsk-tsk sound. She was the shortest officer Jodenny had ever seen, and had probably scraped by the Team Space minimum height requirement.

  “Silly machine,” she said, scolding it with a wagging finger. “So temperamental. So unhappy.”

  The Fraser daughters giggled.

  Sadiqi fixed whatever problem ailed the scanner and sent the children off on their way. Jodenny, fascinated by the tiny officer, said, “Great coffee.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Sadiqi said brightly. “It’s a special blend, with very carefully requisitioned beans. Welcome aboard the Kamchatka.”

  Jodenny and Farber ate at one of the bolted-down tables. The Fraser daughters had brought a deck of cards with them and began a game Jodenny didn’t recognize. The Zhangs arrived, made disparaging comments about the food, then fell into rapture over helpings of spicy tofu and rice. Other passengers wandered in and out, some of them stopping to socialize, others off to inspect the recreational facilities.

  “There’s a pool and a gym,” Farber said, reading the back of her PIC. “And a library. A bar called the Hole in the Wall that serves crew and passengers.”

  Jodenny gazed at the countdown vid on the bulkhead. Fourteen hours until the ship left orbit. Another day or so to the Little Alcheringa drop point. Four days in transit. Nothing compared to the months it took freighters on the Big Alcheringa to transit between the Seven Sisters. Once at Earth, they’d discharge cargo and passengers and take on new ones, then make the return trip.

  “And this is Ellen Spring,” Farber said, jerking Jodenny’s attention back to the table.

  Farber was talking to a tall, dark-haired lieutenant with bright blue eyes and dimples in his cheeks. “Mark Sweeney,” he said, offering a handshake. “Passenger Liaison Officer, among other things. Welcome aboard. First time to Earth?”

  “Yes,” Farber said. “For both of us.”

  Sweeney’s smile deepened. He folded his arms over his chest, casual and relaxed. “It’s an eye-opener. Nothing like terra firma, home sweet home, cradle of humanity. Don’t believe anything anyone else says.”

  Jodenny asked, “What does a Passenger Liaison Officer do?”

  “Passenger complaints, duly noted. Passenger compliments, gratefully passed up to Captain Balandra. She’ll be leading our happy cruise down the Little A. New to space travel?”

  Farber said, “Brand new.”

  “And you, Miss Spring?” Sweeney’s gaze was direct and earnest, and one she recognized. Passenger Liaison Officer in more ways than one. Not that he didn’t deserve an active social life, stuck on this milk run back and forth to Earth. Once she might have even been inclined to reciprocate the interest, but those days were long behind her.

  She replied, “I’ve never been on a ship like this before,” which was true.

  “We’ve got a tradition here in Team Space, for sailors on their first trip down the Alcheringa. Turns you from a newbie to a welcomed member of the club. Civilians are invited to participate as well. Interested?”

  Jodenny knew all about the shellback ceremony. A day of merriment, sticky substances, arcane rituals, good-natured humiliation. As a young ensign she’d participated, and been no worse for the wear. But ever since Myell had been faced with the prospect of chief’s initiation, she’d rethought her position on so-called welcoming ceremonies.

  “No, thanks.” Jodenny picked up her tray. “I’m going to go check out the gym.”

  “I’ll show you where it is,” Sweeney volunteered.

  “I can find my way.”

  “It’s easy to get turned around on a ship this size.”

  Jodenny said, “I’ll manage. Good day, Lieutenant.”

  The passenger gym was one deck down. Though the bulkheads were scuffed and the floor mats well worn, the treadmills were modern enough. The adjacent swimming pool was closed for maintenance. Jodenny headed for the library, and found a small compartment with overflowing bookshelves and some comfortable furniture. Not a bad place to hide out if—when, she admitted—the cabin she shared with Farber grew too small for comfort.

  She ran her finger along the spines of some mystery novels, trying to figure out which ones Myell might like.

  In one of the passenger lounges, a friendly game of farkar had taken up the attention of four adults. Business travelers, or maybe investors. An elderly couple with a small black lapdog were watching a movie on the wallscreen. Retirees, maybe, on their way home after many years on Fortune. Two teenagers sitting on a chaise-longue shared a gib back and forth, their gazes shy and brief.

  It surprised Jodenny that such a range of people would actually be heading back to Earth, to the debased land, but she didn’t dwell on it.

  Instead she went back to cabin D-25 and started counting the hours until launch.

  * * *

  At T-minus-two hours, the overhead comm clicked to life.

  “This is your captain speaking,” a woman said. She sounded confident and assured, utterly in charge. “I regret to inform you we’ve had an engineering delay. Launch countdown is on hold. Enjoy your evening, and I’ll be back to give you an update come morning.”

  Lying on her bunk, Farber said, “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It’s not,” Jodenny replied, from where she’d been doing sit-ups and push-ups on the deck.

  Farber sighed and went back to reading her gib.

  “Don’t you think you should check in with your department? In case Commander Nam’s team has returned already?” Jodenny asked.

  “I called them after dinner. There was no word.”

  Nam’s team had been gone long enough to go all the way around the Bainbridge loop if both the network and Blue-Q gel were working properly. Obviously something—illness, accident, discovery of the missing team—had prompted them to step off the loop.

  Jodenny showered, brushed out her hair, and put on a jersey and slacks.

  “Going somewhere?” Farber asked.

  “You said there was a bar. I’m on a reconnaissance mission.”

  The decor of the Hole in the Wall was no better than anywhere else on the ship, and the dark interior felt more claustrophobic than anything else, but the beer was cold enough. Jodenny sat at the long plastic bar and eyed some off-duty crew. Admin types, not engineering. Some passengers were conferring around the dartboards, and others were playing eight ball.

  “Think we’ll be launching come morning?” she asked the bartender, a stocky civilian with a bristly red beard.

  He had his gaze on an overhead, where a soccer game was under way. “Doubt it.”

  “Eng
ines break down a lot?”

  “Pieces of shit that Team Space won’t upgrade. This is no ship to be on if you’re in a hurry.”

  Jodenny nursed a growing resentment. Longer they dallied in orbit, longer the trip would take, longer she would suffer not knowing where Myell was, how he was faring.

  Two sailors passed behind her, giggling, in love, and one accidentally jostled Jodenny’s arm.

  “Sorry,” the male sailor said. His eyes widened. “Miz Scott, it’s you!”

  Jodenny recognized AT Putty Romero at once. With him was AT Tingley. Myell’s students at Supply School. She slid off her stool, her back to the bartender, and steered the two young sailors toward a private booth that smelled like faux leather.

  “So nice to see you again,” she said, with forced cheer, until she got them seated. “Listen. I’m not me. I’m assigned here under a different name, understand? You can’t call me Commander or ma’am. That’s a direct order. As far as you know, I’m a civilian named Ellen Spring.”

  “Why, ma’am?” Tingley asked, her voice as soft as ever.

  “Long story. And don’t call me ma’am. What are you two doing here? Shouldn’t you still be in school?”

  “We graduated,” Romero said. “Big ceremony, all the brass were there. And look! We got married.”

  He held up his ring finger. Tingley held up hers as well, her face bright. Gold knots gleamed in the bar’s low light.

  “We thought it would be easier to get a cabin together,” she said. “But we didn’t even get one! Everyone below the rank of E-5 sleeps in open bay. It’s not very nice.”

  Open-bay berthing had been abolished on the Big Alcheringa, but the Kamchatka was old and Team Space probably didn’t want to pay for a retrofit.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Tingley said. “This is our honeymoon, either way.”

  Jodenny had seen too many impulsive marriages on ships, too many young people who didn’t think things through before they legally entangled their fortunes. She wasn’t going to think much about her own honeymoon brochures still sitting at home in Adeline Oaks.