She was all set to return to LD-G when AM Dyatt appeared at her door, as pregnant as ever. “Can I talk to you, ma’am?”
“Certainly.” Jodenny had her sit down. “How’s Ops?”
“It’s okay, I guess. I miss my mates here in Supply.” Dyatt fidgeted with the hem of her maternity shirt. “I didn’t come here for me, though. I was wondering if you had a job for my boyfriend, AT Olsson.”
Jodenny remembered him. “Wasn’t he in that fight the other night?”
Dyatt picked at a hangnail. “It wasn’t his fault, ma’am. People in Maintenance … well, it’s not a good place to work. Nobody’s happy, and there’s things going on that Joe doesn’t like, but there’s nothing he can do about it. Him just being an AT and all.”
“What kind of things?” Jodenny asked. “Things involving Chief Chiba?”
Dyatt shrugged.
Jodenny leaned back in her chair. “To be truthful, I don’t know if I want AT Olsson working here.”
Dyatt gave her a wounded look. “Won’t you at least talk to him? He wants to do the right thing, honest he does.”
“I heard you went to Sick Berth with a black eye the other day,” Jodenny said. She’d checked into it after the fight between her division and Maintenance. Dyatt told everyone she had walked into a door, but no one really believed her.
“That wasn’t Joe,” Dyatt said firmly. “I swear it wasn’t. And you don’t have to worry, because it’s not going to happen again. I’m not lying to you.”
Jodenny sighed. She couldn’t be sure if Dyatt was lying or not, and if Olsson was the kind of man who hit his pregnant girlfriend, she wanted nothing to do with him. But maybe if she talked to him she could find out information to use against Chiba and Quenger if the need arose. “All right. Tell Olsson to come see me. But no promises.”
“Okay. Thanks, ma’am.” Dyatt pulled herself up, red-faced with exertion. She patted her stomach. “You won’t tell anyone I said it, right? That Maintenance isn’t any good? Chief Chiba would get awfully mad.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Jodenny promised. “In return, I want you to come to me if anyone hits you again. We’ll make sure they go up on charges.”
Dyatt gave her a rueful look. “I told you. There isn’t going to be a next time.”
After Dyatt was gone, Jodenny checked on Olsson’s duty assignment and saw that he was attached to the Repair Shop on the Rocks. The same one where Myell had been turned away before the theft of Castalia, which reminded her of an item on her to-do list. “Holland, did that report ever come in from Loss Accounting? The one about the missing dingo?”
“No, Lieutenant. Would you like for me to request it again?”
“No,” Jodenny said. “I’ll ask myself.”
She went up to the Security Department in person and asked for Sergeant Rosegarten. “She’s on leave, ma’am,” said the apprentice mate on duty. “Can I get someone else for you?”
“How about Sergeant Polson?”
“Sure, he’s here.”
A moment later Polson came out of an inner office. He listened to her request and said, “No problem, Lieutenant, I can look that up for you. You want a hard copy or imail one?”
“Both,” she said.
He printed out a six-page report bearing Senga’s and Rosegarten’s signatures. Jodenny was reading it at the counter when Al-Banna pinged her to say, “The captain’s office needs someone to take a diplomatic pouch down to New Christchurch. You’ve been volunteered.”
“But we’re still taking on deliveries, sir, and Chief Nitta’s on shore leave.”
“You’ve got sergeants, don’t you? Besides, you should be done with deliveries by this afternoon. The pouch has got to be there by seventeen hundred hours. Come back up in the morning or take an extra day off.”
Jodenny didn’t like it, but she knew she had no real choice. “Yes, sir.”
She packed an overnight bag, picked up the pouch from the bridge, and went to catch the next birdie down to the planet. Commander Rokutan was in the B-Deck hangar, signing off on a pilot’s requisition. As he handed it back to the pilot he nearly dropped it.
“I thought you were going to call me and come visit someday,” Rokutan said to Jodenny. “Those of us in Flight Support get lonely out here.”
His smile was wide and disarming, his eyes quite lovely to look at. Jodenny said, “My fault. I’ve been remiss.”
“Well, call when you get back,” he said earnestly. “Enjoy your shore leave.”
On the way down to the planet she mused a bit about Rokutan, then turned her attention to Rosegarten’s report on the missing DNGO. Nothing in it surprised her. Myell’s statement was clear enough, and Rosegarten had corroborated with RT Engel that the Repair Shop had closed two hours before launch. That was awfully early, but Engel said it was just for that day so the shop could conduct inventory. Chief Chiba had also been in the Repair Shop at the time and he corroborated Engel. Neither of them recalled seeing the DNGO during the drill, but they hadn’t been looking for it, either. Rosegarten had attached a roster from the safety pod under T6’s access ring to prove that Myell had checked in forty seconds after the General Quarters began. Strayborn had confirmed his arrival, and stated that Myell stayed put during the drill. In the report’s conclusion Rosegarten said that it was likely someone had taken the opportunity of the General Quarters drill to steal the DNGO, but Myell was clearly not to blame.
The words on the page should have made Jodenny happy, but she was perplexed. Why had it taken so long for Senga to sign off on such a simple report, and why the delay in letting her see it? Did Rosegarten know about the ongoing animosity between Chiba and Myell, and would that have made a difference in her conclusion?
The birdie landed a short time later. New Christchurch was modern and antiseptic in design, a metropolis of cream-colored buildings, uninspired sculptures, and carefully maintained public parks. She took a cab to Team Space headquarters, delivered the pouch to the duty officer, and trammed back downtown, where Holland had booked her into a tourist hotel. She ran into Minnich and Erickson in the lobby.
Erickson said, “Join us for dinner, Lieutenant.”
“Thanks, but I can’t,” Jodenny said. “Have a good time.”
She knew officers who partied with their divisions, who went to strip joints on Sundowner or beachside bars on Kiwi. Not a good idea, but sometimes she envied them their ability to drop the barriers of rank and privilege. Jodenny went to her room and changed into civvies. “Holland,” she said, “when’s the first birdie in the morning?”
“Ten hundred hours, Lieutenant. There’s another at seventeen hundred, but that’s it for the day. Flights are severely limited on Sundays due to religious restrictions.”
“I’ll be on the first one.” Jodenny stretched out on the oversized bed, grateful for the soft mattress. “Did I receive an imail from Sergeant Polson? The Loss Accounting report?”
“Yes, it’s in your queue.”
“Read it and tell me what you think.”
Holland was quiet for a moment. “I see nothing illogical in Sergeant Rosegarten’s conclusion. Sergeant Myell doesn’t seem to be at fault.”
“I agree. But something … I don’t know.”
Staring at the ceiling didn’t help anything. Jodenny locked her gib, the empty pouch, and most of her money in the room safe and walked over to the colorful open-air marketplace near the public library. The sidewalks were busy with crowds enjoying the day. She window-shopped and had coffee in a bookstore café, watching occasional members of the Aral Sea pass in the street. A police officer in a spiffy green coat gave an apprentice mate a ticket for jaywalking, much to the amusement of his companions. Jodenny finished her coffee and was on her way back to the hotel when Quenger and Nitta emerged from a bar and headed off toward the warehouse district, sunglasses and hats shading them from the late-afternoon sun.
Jodenny hung back to watch them. The two of them wore civvies, not uniforms, which ruled
out the probability they were off to conduct official business. Besides, the warehouse district was closing for the day, hundreds of workers streaming home on foot or by public transportation. She told herself that their business was not her concern and that she should go have a nice dinner somewhere. But Nitta was her chief, damn it, and if he was up to no good she needed to know about it.
Not much to see in this part of New Christchurch, just blocks of gray warehouses and emptying parking lots and mag-lev freight trains. The sun was below the buildings now, leaving the sky a rosy shade of gold. Quenger and Nitta cut across pedestrian traffic to a narrow side street. As Jodenny moved to follow a man stepped in front of her and held up a hand.
“New Christchurch Police, miss.” He was young and clean-shaven and had an official air about him, but he wasn’t wearing a uniform or hat. “May I see your ID?”
“What?” Jodenny asked. “Why?”
“ID, please. Do you have any?”
His expression was sharp, his eyes narrow. Jodenny felt chastised, although she’d done nothing wrong. She pulled out her Team Space identity card and handed it over. She expected him to run it through his scanner or a gib, but he simply examined it and handed it back.
“I’d like for you to accompany me and answer a few questions.”
“Accompany you where? Questions about what?”
“This way, please.” He touched her elbow and steered her toward a plain gray flit parked at the curb.
Fear flashed through her. New Christchurch Police were the most by-the-book cops in the Seven Sisters, and this man hadn’t even flashed a badge. “I need to call my ship first.”
His light touch turned into a firm grip. “This won’t take long.”
Jodenny hooked her foot around his and shifted her weight. It was a simple move, one she’d learned in self-defense class. Her would-be abductor fell in an untidy heap. The people around them said, “Hey!” and “Watch it!” but Jodenny’s arm was free, and she deftly evaded his attempt to latch on to her ankle. She pushed her way through the crowd, hoping to lose him in the crush.
“Stop!” the man called out. “You’re under arrest!”
Heads turned. Someone tried to grab her and nearly ripped off her sleeve. Jodenny began to push against people in her haste to get away. In just seconds a second unmarked flit descended from the sky and blocked the street up ahead. A handful of men emerged and sprinted her way. Breathless, Jodenny lunged for a door in the wall, found it locked, threw herself at the next one, and yanked it open. A security robot shaped like a floating red apple confronted her.
“Name and access card, please,” it said politely.
Jodenny ducked underneath it and locked the deadbolts behind her. The building was dim and warm and smelled like machine oil. Not the most prosperous of businesses, judging by the dirty green carpet and cheap overhead lighting. She jogged toward a distant exit sign, calling out, “Hello? Is anyone here?”
“Please halt,” the secbot said, following her. “You are not authorized to enter this area.”
She ducked into a darkened kitchen and tried to activate a comm mounted on the wall. Only an annoying buzz greeted her ears. The company must have programmed it to turn off after normal working hours. Jodenny followed the hall farther, past a unisex head and a safety workstation. Though there was a perch for a medbot, it was empty and filled with someone’s discarded soda bottle.
The secbot continued to follow her. Still in that polite tone, it said, “Please desist from any illegal activities. I am recording your image for identification and possible criminal prosecution.”
Jodenny gave it a hard look. The camera lens mounted in its torso was cracked, and half of the grill on its speaker was bent. Whoever owned the place didn’t invest much money into security. Then again, on Mary River, why bother? If the company was a Team Space contractor, they probably billed Fleet for phony equipment and pocketed the money.
“I’m not going to do anything illegal,” she told the machine. Jodenny found a set of double doors and yanked hard, but they were electronically locked. She peered through a dirty glass window and saw a poorly lit warehouse filled with a dozen or more rows of equipment. “Can you tell if those men outside are really the police?”
“My external sensors are currently nonfunctional,” it said. “You are requested to leave these premises with haste.”
Jodenny scanned the hallway for anything she could use to jimmy open the door. “Call the police and verify that they have officers outside.”
“My external communications are currently nonfunctional. You are beseeched to depart before criminal activity occurs.”
She broke open a fire box, grabbed the ax inside, and swung the blade against the door locks.
“Stop!” the secbot screeched. “Violation! Violation!”
Two blows later, the damaged door plate gave way. The secbot extended grappling arms and reached for Jodenny. She buried the ax in its torso and threw herself aside as it spun and crashed to the floor. Poor thing. She had never killed a machine before, but regret and financial reparations would have to wait.
Once in the warehouse, Jodenny gazed at dozens of rows of construction equipment and machine parts. The heavily loaded shelves, some of them dangerously sagging, stretched at least thirty feet toward a corrugated roof. Dust and grime coated many of the crates. The whole company was probably on the verge of failure, or in some kind of serious financial trouble. She could safely assume there wouldn’t be any more secbots coming her way, but voices in the hall indicated a different problem.
“In here,” one said, and a door opened somewhere off to her right. “Cut off the exits. Get all the lights on.”
Jodenny slipped into the nearest aisle and pressed herself close to the crates. The lights overhead flickered and came on full strength, but there were plenty of shadows and dark spaces left to hide in. If they had heat sensors or pocket scanners they’d track her down soon enough.
“Come on out, Lieutenant!” a second man shouted. “Save yourself trouble later on.”
Jodenny hooked her hands on the shelf behind her and hauled herself up. A bin of small gears nearly tipped, and in her haste to catch it she stirred up dust that nearly made her sneeze. She tried squeezing her way through but the bins and crates were packed so tightly that she had to climb up one more shelf in order to do it. She heard men moving around below her and coordinating their efforts on their radios.
“Not down here,” the first man said. “You’re sure she came this way?”
“Someone killed that secbot.”
A third man spoke, answering a question she couldn’t hear. “Not yet! Don’t let them interfere. They’re ours, no one else’s.”
“Lieutenant Scott!” It was the second man again. He sounded older and angrier than the others. “It’s your duty to cooperate. All we want to do is ask some questions.”
She still didn’t think they were local law enforcement. Team Space security? Men from Fleet? Why try to cart her off so quickly and forcibly, and without a good reason? The law-abiding part of her wanted to show herself, clear up any misunderstandings. The cautious part warned her that going off with armed and deceitful strangers was never a good idea.
Footsteps came closer. “Lieutenant, you’re just making things worse.”
A radio squawked somewhere. The second man said, “They lost them, fuck them all—we’ve got to move!”
Running footsteps, a slamming door, and silence. Jodenny waited, listening hard, but they didn’t return. After several minutes she dropped to the floor as quietly as possible. There, in the distance, a conveyer belt stretched toward thick rubber flaps. Cautiously, keeping in the shadows, she made her way to it. The warehouse remained quiet and calm. They really had just gone off and left her. She wriggled through the flaps to an empty parking lot and a sky tinged gold with sunset. The fresh air was as refreshing as a drink of cold water.
But she wasn’t totally in the clear. A flit was parked at the front o
f the building and two men were sitting inside. Jodenny pulled back before they could see her. The fence at the back of the parking lot had a gap in it, and on the other side was freight yard where a mag-lev train was beginning to roll away.
Jodenny squeezed through the fence, sprinted after the caboose, grabbed a handrail, and swung up to a small grated platform. “Not so difficult,” she said, to cheer herself up, but when she rattled the caboose door it refused to open. Damn it. The entire train was probably automated, with no human crew onboard to assist her. Because she had no desire to end up on the other side of the planet she leaned over, but the dry hard ground was rushing by faster and faster. Leaping would certainly lead to injury or death.
“Fine,” Jodenny grumbled, and eased herself to a sitting position on the platform. She tried to catch her breath and calm the hammering of her heart. She reached for her gib, hoping to enlist Holland’s expertise, but her belt loop was empty. She’d left it in her room, along with the rest of her things.
Jodenny buried her face in her hands until the lights of New Christchurch were gone. The mag-lev raced parallel to the evening traffic on the Bethlehem Parkway, but probably no one could see her sitting on the platform. She was glad that it was a summer night, not the dead of winter, and though her gib was back in her room she at least had her ID and some money. When the train made its first stop or slowed down enough for her to jump safely, she would simply hire a flit and get back to civilization.
And do what? Make a report, she supposed. Face the real police, if they came asking about that secbot. Try to find out who the men were that had followed her into the warehouse, and why they didn’t want her to follow Quenger and Nitta.
The caboose shielded her from the wind, but the train’s speed had picked up and the ride wasn’t as smooth as it might look from afar. The tracks hooked east across dark cornfields. Jodenny tried pinpointing the Aral Sea above but its orbit had taken it to the other side of the planet. She consulted her watch. Seventy-two hours until departure. If she didn’t make it back before then she would be AWOL, and if she couldn’t report to a Team Space office within thirty days she would be labeled a deserter.
The Outback Stars Page 17