The Stars Down Under

by Sandra McDonald

  “Attention, all passengers and crew,” Captain Balandra said. “This is a emergency evacuation drill. Please consult your passenger information cards or the nearest crew member and report to your evacuation pods. I repeat, this is a drill, but your participation is mandatory.”

  “Bloody rules,” Louise Sharp said, downing the rest of her drink.

  Jodenny had forgotten the mandatory drill. Her PIC directed her to C-deck, pod 7. Not a far distance at all. The Frasers were also heading that way, as was Hullabaloo. Sailors stood by at every lift and ladder to direct traffic. It was all very orderly and calm, and the gray-green emergency pod was well outfitted with survival gear and medbots.

  The officer in charge, a portly man named Chief Reed, made sure all twenty occupants were belted in and understood their responsibilities in case of a true emergency.

  “This part of the pod is my area,” he said. “Passengers aren’t allowed to touch it. We’re fully automated, no steering wheel or navigation controls, but through this console I can talk to our onboard computer, and the computers aboard the Kamchatka, and communicate planetside.”

  “Have you ever had to launch?” one of the Fraser girls asked.

  Chief Reed patted her head. “Never, my dear. No emergencies are allowed around here. This ship has the best safety record in the fleet.”

  Jodenny kept her gaze on the bulkhead and bit her lip. She knew what it was like to hear General Quarters klaxon for real, to smell burning flesh and fuel, to feel her lungs sear and heart trip-hammer in terror. But she was past that now. She was calm and collected.

  “Ellen?” said Hullabaloo, from beside her. “You’re going to break my arm.”

  She realized that the armrest she’d been using was human, not plastic. “Sorry.”

  “I’ve made this trip a dozen times. Trust me. They just do this because regulations say so.”

  The drill lasted thirty minutes. Afterward, the Frasers asked Jodenny to join them for dinner. All she wanted was to crawl off to her cabin and recuperate. First she had to collect Karl from the lounge, where she’d left him curled up in the sofa cushions. But the little robot wasn’t there. Jodenny searched under all the furniture and behind the vending machines. She remembered Malachy Balandra lingering earlier. The little weasel. She went up to senior-officer berthing on B-deck. A sign warned that the area was off-limits to passengers, but the captain’s cabin wasn’t hard to find.

  She buzzed the hatch, and Malachy answered with Karl in his arms.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Jodenny demanded.

  “He was in the passageway!” Malachy protested. “I saved him from being stomped or getting lost.”

  “Who is it, Mal?” asked a woman’s voice from inside.

  Malachy opened the hatch wider. Captain Balandra was standing in the middle of the suite, signing off a gib held by a young ensign. Balandra was tall, sturdy, and olive skinned, with a sweetheart-shaped face and neatly coiled dark hair.

  “This is the bot’s mom,” Malachy said, handing Karl over.

  “Such a cute pet,” Balandra said pleasantly. “Now I’m going to have to get him one when we return to Fortune. Miss Spring, is it?”

  “Ellen Spring, ma’am,” Jodenny said.

  “Enjoying your trip so far?”

  Karl nuzzled against Jodenny’s neck. She said, “It’s been educational.”

  Captain Balandra laughed. “I’ll take that in a positive way. Mal tells me you were able to fix one of our library gibs. I’d like to say our Maintenance Department would have been right on that, but thanks for taking the initiative.” To the ensign she said, “That’s all, Mr. Ingstrom. Back to the bridge for you.”

  “Ma’am,” Ingstrom said, and edged past Jodenny.

  Balandra gazed frankly at Jodenny. “Know you, don’t I? Your face is awfully familiar.”

  “I get that a lot,” Jodenny said.

  Malachy tilted his head, as if memorizing her features.

  “I’m having some passengers over later to enjoy the drop into the Little Alcheringa,” Balandra said. “Can I interest you in some wine and cheese, at around twenty-one hundred hours?”

  Farber would be irate if Jodenny took up the captain’s invitation. For that, if no other reason, the offer was tempting. But Jodenny said, “Sorry, I have another commitment.”

  “Maybe dinner some evening, before we reach Earth?”

  “Maybe,” Jodenny said. “Thanks for watching Karl. Good evening, Captain.”

  She intended to experience the shift from normal space into the Little Alcheringa from the safety of her cabin, but Hullabaloo and Baylou came by and nagged her into coming down to the Hole in the Wall. Passengers and crew alike had crowded into the bar, shouting to be heard over the music. Dancers bumped and gyrated on the dance floor and beer sloshed freely over the rims of glasses everywhere.

  “Bit frantic about it, aren’t they?” Hullabaloo asked. “Trying too hard to be merry.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Baylou said, “Didn’t you hear about that ship? The one that blew up off Kookaburra when it tried to enter the Big A? It was in the news last month.”

  Jodenny took a steadying gulp of beer and said, “Thought that was separatists. You know. The Colonial Freedom Project.”

  “That’s what they want you to think,” Baylou said.

  Hullabaloo said, “Don’t listen to him. He’s a little nervous himself.”

  “Nothing’s going to go wrong,” Jodenny said.

  The wallvids were programmed to show Fortune’s system. Fortune was still visible, but only as a small blue and green orb. She thought about her little house in Adeline Oaks, and about Myell out there somewhere in the network, and about all the Yangtze’s dead, and raised her glass.

  A countdown appeared on the overhead, bright white letters on a sea of blue. The crowd took up the chant.

  “Ten … nine … eight…”

  They were all shouting now, good-natured, maybe a little frightened, but Jodenny was suddenly happy to be with them and not locked up with Farber in the cabin. Most of this group had long forgotten their school lessons about Jackie MacBride, the first captain to pilot a ship along the Little Alcheringa. But Jodenny raised a glass and made a second toast to Jackie and her crew, lost astronauts from Earth who’d changed the course of humanity with their discovery.

  “Just like New Year’s Eve,” Hullabaloo said, eyes glittering.

  “So kiss me, you fool,” Baylou said.

  Jodenny saw Ensign Fila Sadiqi in the crowd, her long hair streaming down her shoulders as she danced in the arms of the galley cook. AT Romero and AT Tingley were perched on stools at the bar, their arms wrapped around each other.

  “… three, two, one!”

  The ship shifted, ever so slightly. The wallvid went blank, as expected. No stars shone in the Alcheringa. The crowd cheered and kissed and Jodenny sighed in happy relief. The beer in her glass went down smooth and cold, and she turned to order another.

  Then the Kamchatka’s engines shuddered and failed, and the entire ship plunged into darkness.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Aboriginal warriors spent the night talking and singing around a campfire at the edge of the petroglyph cave. Myell couldn’t understand a word of their quick language, but he very much appreciated the dinner they provided—soft chewy tubers and little brown things he couldn’t quite identify.

  “Baked grubs,” Nam said.

  Myell wasn’t very hungry after that.

  Gayle spent hours trying to communicate. “Gayle,” she said, laying her hand flat on her chest. “I’m Anna Gayle. My name is Anna Gayle.”

  The natives laughed at her efforts and poked at her fair skin and blond hair. Nam watched carefully, tensely. Maybe waiting to see if things would get out of hand. Myell didn’t think the Aboriginals posed any risk to Gayle’s virtue, but he kept watch as well.

  Shark Tooth was fond of his drawing on the floor, and referred to it several t
imes during the evening. Nam said, “He must have seen the lightning hit you.”

  Myell squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t hit by lightning.”

  The rain continued overnight. Myell spent a restless night listening to the Aboriginals snore. Two of Shark Tooth’s men kept watch, preventing any attempts at escape. Come morning, Shark Tooth led the way out of the cave and up the gully. Already the landscape was changing, turning green. They walked toward the morning sun blistering in the eastern sky.

  Nam said, “You wanted to meet the locals, Dr. Gayle. I guess you’re going to get your chance.”

  Shark Tooth’s men began to sing as they walked. After several hours the plateau transitioned to a lush rain forest of tree roots that entangled their feet, mud that sucked at their legs, rot and moss everywhere, nettle plants that Shark Tooth’s men beat back with sticks. For hours they continued east with no breaks for food or rest.

  “How far are we going to go?” Myell asked.

  Nam said, “As far as they take us.”

  Bright birds fluttered in the canopy of leaves overhead. Myell wished he were a bird, light and quick, so that he could fly back to the Spheres and end this misadventure. Jodenny would love to be part of such a momentous occasion, this meeting of civilizations. But even she might find the heat and pace daunting, the prospects ahead a little frightening.

  “We should have tried to escape when we could,” Nam said, swatting aside an oversize palm frond.

  Come midafternoon, the rain forest abruptly gave way to ancient brown cliffs and the most terrifying view of an ocean Myell had ever seen. His legs froze up. All he could see was unlimited blue, the rising and falling water that stretched from a rounded bay and reached to forever. Salt water, billions of liters of it, heaving and frothing—

  Nam’s hand closed on Myell’s arm. “You’d better walk over here,” he said, and blocked the view with his own body.

  But not seeing the ocean made things even worse, because Myell could still hear it smashing on the rocks and spires and smell the salt and rot.

  “Chief.” Nam slapped his cheeks lightly. “Stay with me, here.”

  Gayle and the Aboriginals were walking north along the cliff line. Shark Tooth turned back to investigate the delay. Myell tried to suck in a steadying breath but his throat was too tight, his chest an aching block of frozen muscle.

  Nam forced his chin up with the tip of his finger. “There’s no ocean over there. You hear me? No ocean at all.”

  “There’s a huge fucking ocean there, sir,” Myell managed to say.

  “I’m your commanding officer, and I say there’s not. So move your ass, Chief. This nature hike isn’t over yet.”

  Myell managed to take one small step, then another. It helped that Nam’s grip was still tight on his arm, and that there were plenty of dusty feet around to concentrate on. By the time Myell felt ready to walk on his own they were at a village set back a hundred meters from the cliff’s edge. The salty smell was still prevalent, but now mixed with pine and smoke and burning meat and the sweat of unwashed bodies.

  The village itself consisted of thirty or so leaf-thatched homes sharing gardens and pigpens. Naked children ran freely about, laughing and shouting. Adults wearing slightly more clothing rose from their chores and closed in on the returning group. Myell lost sight of Nam. Voices jabbered at him and fingers poked his white skin.

  “Commander!” he yelled out, panicking.

  “Stay calm!” Nam shouted back from somewhere behind him. “They’re not going to hurt you!”

  Easier to hear than believe. Easier to start swatting people away than stay still and endure. Hands pinched and probed, and bodies pressed close. He was going to drown in an ocean of people. Then Shark Tooth intervened with a bellow, brandishing his spear until the villagers pulled back. The next pair of hands that grabbed him belonged to Nam.

  “They do love you.” Nam glared at the crowd. “What’s your secret allure?”

  “I don’t know.” Myell tried to catch his breath, but he was shaking too hard.

  Shark Tooth ushered them to an open-air structure where a palm-frond roof rose over the beaten sand of the floor. In the center was a squared-off area protected by large, rough stones and fallen logs. A stream of bare-breasted women with feathers in their hair brought food and other offerings—mango fruits, dried fish, small woven baskets, gourds of fresh water, totems carved from wood.

  “We’re honored visitors,” Gayle said.

  “Some of us more honored than others, maybe,” Nam said.

  Gayle tried to talk to their captors. Nam watched but didn’t participate. Myell stretched against one of the logs, glad for the fresh breeze and the dimness under the thatched roof. His legs ached from the long march and a little rest seemed like a good idea. After a few minutes he opened his eyes. Darkness had come on. A large bonfire blazed in the sand far from the buildings.

  “No dinner yet,” Nam said. “If these are my ancestors, they need some hospitality training.”

  Myell rubbed the back of his head. “That almost sounded like a joke, sir.”

  Nam said, “Don’t get used to it.”

  “Where’s Dr. Gayle?”

  “They took her.”

  He sat up. “You didn’t stop them?”

  “She wanted to go,” Nam said grimly. “Thinks she can communicate with them, heaven help us.”

  Six of the native women approached, shy and giggling. They carried basins of water and roughly woven towels.

  “Washing-up committee.” Nam’s hands clenched. “I hope this isn’t the part where we get prepared for the ritual sacrifice.”

  The cleansing consisted of having their feet and hands washed, rubbed with oil, and decorated with ocher. The thick, swirly designs made Myell’s skin itch. After the washing, they were escorted out to the bonfire. Dozens of logs blazed upward from a tall pyre. Ten or so old men and women had arranged themselves in a semicircle nearby. Gayle was sitting on her haunches in the sand before the elders. White feathers had been tied to her hair and multiple strings of seashells hung around her neck.

  “Been making friends?” Nam asked.

  “Been trying,” Gayle said, her eyes on the oldest of the male elders. “I think he’s their chief. The others defer to him.”

  Shark Tooth approached and crouched before Chief Elder, who put a hand on his head. The villagers around the fire, sixty or seventy men and women and children, observed in silence. Gayle climbed to her feet. The only sounds now were the wind and the crackle of flames, the distant roar of the ocean, and the occasional cry of a baby who could not be hushed.

  Chief Elder spoke a long monologue of syllables that shifted and climbed over one another. Shark Tooth turned and motioned for Myell to step forward.

  “Do as they say, Chief,” Gayle cautioned. “Everything.”

  “I thought we didn’t know what they were saying,” Nam said.

  Myell was presented to Chief Elder with a flurry of words. Shark Tooth’s arms and hands made great sweeping motions from the sky as he spoke. He imitated thunder and then fell wildly, as if struck by lightning. The crowd murmured in appreciation, and Chief Elder gave Myell a speculative look.

  Shark Tooth stood up. While he brushed dirt off himself, a tall figure moved through the parting crowd. It wore a silver helmet over its head, and a long white feathered cloak swirled downward from its broad shoulders.

  A Bunyip.

  “Christ,” Nam said.

  The alien’s skin was scaly, its black eyes narrow. It opened its jaw to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth. The villagers murmured in appreciation. The Bunyip didn’t seemed interested in Nam, but it stared at Myell. The clawed knuckles and scaly fingers flexed widely, their points dark with mud or blood.

  “Their god,” Gayle said. “You’ve challenged him by surviving that lightning strike.”

  “That’s terrific,” Myell said.

  Nam said, “Stay calm.”

  Gayle continued, “Th
e locals aren’t afraid of it. It may have been here a long time. On the other hand, we’re total strangers. They could kill us if we’re perceived as a threat.”

  The Bunyip turned to Chief Elder and spoke. Its chirps and cries were translated into the local language through a silvery box hanging around its waist. Chief Elder replied, his voice rich and loud. After more exchange, a young boy brought forward a cage of leaf fronds. Shark Tooth extracted a small green gecko and let it dangle by its tail.

  Gayle said, “Small reptiles often symbolize evil. They’ll want you to vanquish it.”

  “Vanquish how?” Myell asked.

  Shark Tooth handed the squirming gecko to Myell. Its legs and forearms scrabbled frantically in midair.

  Shark Tooth gestured toward Myell’s mouth and spoke several words.

  Gayle said, “They want you to eat it.”

  Myell thrust the gecko back toward Shark Tooth. “Absolutely not.”

  Gayle came to his side and rested her hand on his forearm. Her voice was low. “Chief Myell. Swallowing it will demonstrate to the villagers your strength and courage. It’ll raise you up in their eyes. Elevate all of us.”

  “No,” Myell said.

  Her expression sharpened. “If you don’t, you could be endangering us all,” she insisted. “Commander?”

  Nam hadn’t taken his eyes off the alien. “I suggest you open wide, Chief.”

  Myell held the gecko higher. He remembered Koo, the gecko that briefly had been his companion on the Aral Sea. She had enjoyed darting around the terrarium on his desk with her head held high and her tail curled up. Rumor had it that inductees in chief’s initiation were made to swallow goldfish. A gecko, its arms and legs and tail scrabbling for purchase, would be a lot more difficult.

  But he could do it, if he needed to.

  If he wanted to.

  The gecko totems in his dilly bag weighed heavily against his skin, so warm they nearly burned.

  “No.” Myell dropped the creature to the sand. The gecko darted toward the trees and disappeared within seconds.