The purser who took the tickets from Myell asked, “You and the missus going all the way to Port Douglas?”
“Yes,” Myell said, with a fairly good Kiwi accent. “How long until we get there?”
“We’ll be there Friday, sir. Just in time for the solstice and World Cup.”
After walking through a weapons scan they crossed the gangway. The ferry was old but clean, and Jodenny smelled fresh paint as Myell led her through a crowded lounge filled with passengers. Their cabin was small but decently furnished in various shades of blue. No deskgib, though, and no vids. A tiny balcony offered an obstructed view of the river.
“Lie down,” Myell said. “You don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine,” Jodenny said, but her knees had gone weak and she sat in the armchair near the balcony. She grabbed a pillow to hide her shaking hands. Maybe she hadn’t fully recovered from the radiation yet. Maybe the sheer audacity of what she had done, gone AWOL, was catching up to her.
“I’ll have some lunch sent down once the galley opens,” he said.
“Where are you going?”
“Casino. We need more money.”
He left. Jodenny rubbed her eyes and watched the landscape glide past the window. The mighty Motuponui was the largest river on the continent, a wide torrent of freshwater that drained from mammoth lakes in the mountainous north. The river then crossed thousands of kilometers of dense rain forest. The ferry would carry them along the last leg of the river’s journey through a set of timeworn hills, but for now the countryside was flat, the riverbanks in full, heavy bloom.
A steward sent by Myell brought her lunch a few minutes later. After devouring soup and sandwiches she went to examine herself in the mirror. If her picture wasn’t all over the news yet, it soon would be. She rang the porter and borrowed a pair of scissors. Good-bye, hair, she thought as the locks fell into the washbasin. After sunset she ventured up to the lounge deck. A group of do-wops had started an impromptu concert with their guitars and drums while soccer fans clustered around the vids for the semifinals. The casino was already crowded, players jammed around tables and playing slot machines that shouted encouragement to bet even larger sums of money. Myell was slouched at a card table with a depressingly small pile of chips.
“Hi, honey.” Jodenny gave him a warm peck on the cheek. “Are you winning big?”
Myell blinked at her, his gaze fixing on her short hair. “About to, darling.”
“Your husband’s a lousy player,” the man to Myell’s left said.
“My husband is a great player.” Jodenny peeked at his cards and saw he was going to lose the hand. “Sweetie, I’m all out. Lend me some?”
Myell pushed her some yuros. Jodenny gave him another kiss and a squeeze of the thigh for good measure. At a crazy-seven table she took a stool between two immensely large women wearing Kookaburra T-shirts. Jodenny’s cards totaled eighteen. She held and won fifty yuros. She bet half of it again, lost it when the dealer flashed a lightning card, doubled the second half on a wild hand, doubled it again by trumping the player next to her. At a farca table across the room she got into a game with more tourists and a man too casual to be anything other than a card shark plying his trade up and down the river. She let him win the first hand but came back to phase him in the second. Myell had lost most of his money and was morosely feeding the last of it to a slot machine.
“Come on,” she said. “I’ve got enough for us.”
Myell gave her a sideways look. “I want to finish.”
Jodenny went down to the shops. Although she cringed at the prices, she bought herself sturdier travel clothes and a pair of shoes. At a public gib she checked the headline news from Waipata and saw nothing about her or Myell. She returned to their cabin and indulged in a hot shower. Myell showed up after midnight with beer on his breath.
Jodenny said, “You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“No, ma’am.” Myell kicked off his shoes but didn’t undress any further. He stood in the darkness, swaying a little. “That wouldn’t be right. Floor’s fine.”
He dropped a pillow on the floor and disappeared into the bathroom. Jodenny pulled the blanket from the bed and added it to his nest. After a moment’s deliberation she scooped up both pillow and blanket and put them back in place.
He scowled when he came out. “I told you I’ll take the floor.”
“You can take that side of the bed.”
Myell went to his side and sat with his back to her. She held off from touching his shoulders. His stomach growled in the quiet cabin.
“Did you eat?” she asked.
“I’m not hungry.” Myell lay down, resolutely facing away from her.
Jodenny curled up on her side. Let him sulk. He still had some apologizing to do for that fudged inventory, and leaving the ship without telling her, and making her worry so badly. She stared at his back in the darkness and made the magnanimous decision to apologize first.
“I’m sorry for doubting you,” she said.
His shoulder hitched up fractionally. For a moment she hoped they might discuss it, but he apparently wasn’t in a conversational mood. “Good night, Lieutenant.”
“Good night, Sergeant,” she said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Myell woke with sunlight on his face. When he cracked his eyes open he saw Jodenny sitting in the armchair with her knees drawn up. Her short hair still startled him. It made her look older in a way that reminded him she was not a green ensign, nor a seasoned commander, but someone caught on a merciless learning curve somewhere in between.
The smell of garlic woke him further, and he eyed the tray on the table.
“Breakfast,” Jodenny said. “Yours. I already ate.”
He tried not to drool like a starving wolf as he tore into the mofongo and gulped down mango batida. The riverbanks, lush and green, slid by the balcony windows as the boat churned along.
“Thanks,” he said.
She gave him an appraising look. “Tell me what happened with the April numbers.”
Her and that damned inventory. Myell supposed, after sulking over it for most of a day and night, that she had a right to be angry. He rubbed his hand through his hair and recounted as best he could how they’d come to write off three hundred transactions. He didn’t blame Strayborn any more than he blamed himself.
“So you did it because you wanted to get ready for inspection?” Jodenny asked.
“We did it because we were lazy. Because it probably was the battery, and the glitches didn’t seem like a big deal.”
He couldn’t bear to look at her anymore, not when she wore that piercing expression. Myell went to wash his face and hands. When he came out of the bathroom he saw that she had made the bed, put the tray into the hall, and tidied up the cabin. His domestic lieutenant. He wanted her so badly that he felt like he had a low-grade fever. Better to get out of the cabin before he embarrassed himself.
“I’ll just—”
“No.” Jodenny faced him. “I was wrong. I took the first chance I had to distrust you because I was afraid. Of us and for us. Of what it would all mean.”
“There’s no us,” he protested. “It’s not worth the damage to your career.”
“There’s been an us since the first day I met you. I want there to keep being an us.” Jodenny pressed herself against him and covered his lips with her own. In the kiss he sensed her sincere apology, her hunger for him, her eagerness to put things right. She pulled away first and gazed into his eyes.
“What do you want?” she asked.
Myell picked her up and carried her to the bed.
“We should probably go slow,” she said as she stretched out beneath his straddled knees and reached for his waist.
“I agree.” Myell kissed her forehead and the base of her throat, drinking in the scent of her skin, soaking in the heat that sparked between them. “Start back from square one.”
Jodenny slid his trousers down from his hi
ps and worked her hand beneath his boxer shorts. “We’ll get to know each other slowly. Be methodical.”
Clothes were a nuisance. Why had they ever been invented? Groaning, Myell pulled Jodenny’s sundress over her head and unfastened her bra. Her warm, deft fingers made him grind down against her, his breath fast, his nerves on fire. “Are you sure?” Myell asked.
“Absolutely.”
She arched up to kiss him, and the hunger of her lips shot through him. His heartbeat sped up as he shifted, stiffened, moaned. He couldn’t touch enough of her, couldn’t help the need to inhale the smell of her hair. The fingernails of her free hand dragged trails of fire down his back and ass. If she stopped now he would throw himself in the river.
“Jo,” he murmured as her tongue flicked against his left nipple. “Are you sure, sure?”
“Less talking, more kissing,” she instructed, her breath moist and sweet. “And don’t call me Jo.”
It had been too long since Wendy. Since any woman had touched him. He tried to slow down by thinking about DNGOs and COSALs but it was no use. Within moments Myell was climaxing helplessly in her hand. Everything fell away—worry, fear, doubt. The cabin blurred, or maybe that was just his watery vision.
He slumped beside her, trying to catch his breath. “I’m sorry.”
Jodenny kept kissing his chest. “Don’t be. You needed that.”
He ran his fingers through the short strands of her hair. “What do you need?”
“Well,” she drawled with a wicked smile. “I’m glad you asked, sailor.”
They spent most of the morning exploring each other’s bodies, and Myell did in fact learn a thing or two about pleasing supply lieutenants. After fortifying themselves with lunch from room service they went back to mapping erogenous zones and comparing notes. They dozed in the afternoon, the river sliding by outside, the sky a cloudless blue. For dinner they decided to dine out, but lost a half hour to washing each other in the small, cramped shower unit beneath a stream of hot water.
“Maybe we should eat in,” Jodenny said, her lips against the hollow of his throat.
“We need money,” he said.
They ate dinner in a dark, wood-paneled restaurant with wide views of the river. Myell couldn’t stop touching her under the table. In return she slipped her right foot out of a sandal and rubbed it along the inside of his thigh. His fists tightened on the silverware. By the time they reached the casino it was already flush with high rollers. Jodenny’s luck had turned, and she lost two hundred yuros to a trader from Los Niños. Myell began a steady losing streak and was sure he’d be broke before midnight, but a chance bet at roulette brought back most of what he’d lost.
“We’re no better off than we started,” Jodenny said.
Myell thought, We’re a lot better off than we started, but that was gooey and sentimental, and he was wary of another change of her heart. Twenty minutes later he doubled their winnings at roulette. Back in the cabin, beneath those river-washed sheets, he celebrated by worshiping the curve of her belly and her firm thighs. She urged him to go fast and hard, then made him lay perfectly still while she moved her lips and hands over every inch of him in exquisite torture.
“You’re trying to kill me,” he complained.
“Yes,” she said, her voice husky. “That’s exactly my plan.”
Later they lay spooned together, his arm hooked over her waist, her head tucked neatly under his. “Jodenny,” he murmured. “What will we do when we get back?”
“Maybe we won’t go back. We’ll live in the jungle, in a treehouse for two. You can fish and I’ll weave baskets.” Jodenny pressed her hand on his bare hip, a warm and comforting reassurance. “Or we could finish this, go back, clear our names, and fight any disciplinary action they try to impose.”
“Work in separate divisions, deny our relationship to everyone, sneak off for a quickie now and then in the slots?”
“The treehouse sounded better, didn’t it?”
She sounded both wistful and sad, no doubt contemplating the end of everything she’d worked for over the years.
“You love what you do,” he said, nuzzling behind her ear.
“Not always. And not if it means losing you.”
They resolved nothing, promised nothing. Myell listened to the river slap against the ferry’s hull. He refused to think of the Wirrinun, or the Rainbow Serpent, or anything beyond their cabin. At dawn he sensed a shift in the ferry’s engines. He wriggled out of the bed and slipped into his pants. From the balcony he saw the looming shore of Port Douglas. The sky was brightening but overcast.
From the bed Jodenny asked, “Are we there?”
“Nearly.”
“You don’t sound happy about it.”
He pulled on his shoes. “Fleet’s had plenty of time to try and track us. I expect to see police.”
They dressed and packed up their meager belongings. Breakfast was a buffet in the main dining room, and they ate as much as any of their sleepy, bleary-eyed neighbors. On deck, protected from the light drizzle by an awning, they watched the ferry’s captain ease the ship toward a dock.
“There’s trouble,” Jodenny said.
Myell followed her gaze and spied three Warramala police officers in the crowd that had gathered to greet friends or family.
Jodenny scanned their fellow passengers. “What we need is a diversion.”
A group of do-wops were clustered on deck, exhausted from their revelry. Crumpled streamers hung out of their pockets, and their clothes were stained and wrinkled. While Myell watched, Jodenny went and spoke to their leader. The doubt left his face when she handed him several money cards.
“We just bought ourselves a celebration,” Jodenny said when she returned.
For a few minutes Myell was concerned that she had been duped, but as the gangway was hoisted into place the do-wops suddenly regained all their energy. They picked up their instruments and began singing and clapping. They sounded small and somewhat ridiculous against Port Douglas’s sober grayness, but as they went down the gangplank a beam of sunlight broke through the clouds and set a more cheerful backdrop.
“Now?” Myell asked.
“Wait.”
On the dock, two do-wops stumbled against each other. Loud words were exchanged. Someone swung a fist. As the police officers moved to break up the disturbance, Jodenny and Myell slipped behind the ferry buildings.
“Where now?” Jodenny asked.
Myell replied, “I’m not sure. They came this way, but then where? Up to the Corroboree?”
“It would be a good place to get lost in the crowd.”
Port Douglas had a main street of shops, small hotels, and offbeat restaurants. The townsfolk had decorated for the holiday and every shop window was filled with T-shirts, dreamcatchers, boomerangs, incense, drug paraphernalia, and velvet artwork. It was a kitschy patchwork of symbols and clichés that angered Myell. So much we’ve lost, Ganambarr had said. They bought bus tickets and boarded an old electric bus with worn seats and marginal air-conditioning. The other seats filled with do-wops, backpackers, a handful of budget travelers, and an old man wearing a bush hat. The bus rattled its way out of town and up a winding road.
“Honeymooners?” the old man asked Jodenny. “You’ve got that look.”
“Absolutely,” Jodenny said.
Myell watched the road for signs of pursuit but no Team Space cars appeared. Two hours after leaving Port Douglas the bus pulled to a stop in a dusty parking lot in the middle of the jungle. A dozen other buses had arrived before them and were discharging passengers. He saw tourist kiosks set up to sell food, drink, and other necessities, but the Spheres themselves remained unseen. The humid air made him break out into an immediate sweat and Jodenny pressed a water bottle into his hand.
“It’s going to get worse,” the old man said. “Sun wipes out a lot of people.”
As they followed the other travelers up a footpath to the crest of a hill the jungle gave way to a rocky plateau
and cliffs that fell off to the sea. The Mother, Father, and Child stood in their usual regal alignment, but unlike the ones back on Mary River these were surrounded by at least a thousand sincere pilgrims kneeling in noontime prayer, two thousand tourists snapping vids, and three thousand do-wops dancing and singing to popularized, historically suspect Australian gods. The air was filled with conversation, drumbeats, and didgeridoos. Myell smelled roasting food, fragrant tobacco, melting chocolate. An open-air concert was going on in a shaded pavilion while newsvans and security guards kept their cameras trained on the crowds. Beyond the cliffs, the blue sea glittered like a carpet of diamonds.
“Needle in a haystack,” Jodenny said.
They chose the tourist campground just north of the Spheres, where do-wop tents and state-of-the-art recreational vehicles stood side by side. Everything there was relatively quiet, with no sign of Chiba or Quenger. They tried the pilgrim grounds, but a brown-robed friar refused them entrance. Jodenny’s shoulders began to turn pink and Myell was sweating through his shirt. They returned to the Spheres and stopped at different carts to buy water, sunblock, and some nutrition bars. At a shady spot near the cliff’s edge they took a break and relaxed in each other’s arms.
“It’s an aberration, you know,” Myell said, nuzzling the top of Jodenny’s head.
“What is?” she asked.
“Corroboree. The original Aboriginal word was Carribae. None of this can be authentic if it doesn’t even have the correct name.” It was one of the many things he had read during his research on the Rainbow Serpent. He should have asked Daris where in Australia their mother had come from, if she ever spoke of it to him, if they had Aboriginal ancestry. He considered telling Jodenny about the Rainbow Serpent and the Wirrinun, but couldn’t make himself say anything. How could he explain them to her, when he didn’t even understand them himself?
The Outback Stars Page 35