The Stars Down Under (26 page)

He could still tell up from down, at least, the dazzling sun hot in his eyes when he turned his head upward and coughed out water. Yambli's vision came to him, the creatures forming themselves out of land and sea in the eternal Dreamtime. And maybe he was doing that, maybe he was forming himself out of the water into man, or man going back into the water, and had been forever, and would be until the seas of this planet had dried up and left the ocean plains bone dry.

Stroke, stroke, keep kicking, and now a bump against his leg, a bump he could hardly ignore. He sucked in air the wrong way, choked, wheezed in breath. He was drowning.

Another bump, rough skin under his hands, and he pushed the shark away.

“Stubborn,” a woman's voice said.

Myell flailed in surprise, and felt himself pulled into Free-not-chained's embrace. She was strong and cold and naked in his arms, her dark hair streaming around her, bleeding bite marks on her shoulders.

“You're injured,” he said.

“In body, not spirit,” she said.

She was a stronger swimmer than he was, even with the shark wounds. Her embrace was both comforting and disconcerting. Her feet were kicking, and with one arm she was pulling them along, the other wrapped around him. He was faceup, his limbs lax, his heart still pounding furiously.

“What are you?” he asked.

“The crocodile who dreams she's a woman,” Free-not-chained said. “The woman who dreams she's a crocodile. You already knew that.”

“Why help me?”

“We serve the same gods.” Her voice was sibilant in his ears, soothing beneath the waves. Her hands cupped his cheeks, and her fingers were surprisingly hot. “Listen to the ocean the way I do. Hear it.”

Birds, waves, wind, the frantic emptiness. Myell coughed up more water. “I'm listening.”

“Not with your spirit.”

This was hardly the ideal circumstance to start meditating. Then again, Myell didn't think she was going to let him drown. Didn't think he could be any safer than in the arms of a woman-reptile who could kill a great white shark.

“Close your eyes,” Free-not-chained whispered.

He closed them. The eternal ocean persisted. He heard the wind pushing the waves up and down, the birds swirling, fish jumping, and beneath the surface there were newly arrived sharks chomping on the remains of Free-not-chained's victim, and whales circling beneath the sharks, and shrimp making noise, fish making noise, too, and the soft whish of anemones opening and closing their delicate fingers.

The sounds merged into a long, sustained sigh, the exaltation of a god, the wind of the Dreaming as it rolled on over everything, as it carried the world on its shoulders.

Free-not-chained turned him, her hands on his hips, her lips on his mouth, the world splitting between his legs as he entered into her, and the Dreaming, and all there was. His face burned under her touch, his cheeks on fire, his whole body tensed and aching.

Then she released him so that he was floating in the sea on his own, buffeted by the waves, the undertow. She retreated into the ocean with a flip of her crocodile tail. Before he could panic at being on his own, his feet touched sand. Myell hauled himself up onto the shore near the yellow cliffs and collapsed in the sand, all boneless and drained.

A long time later, he pulled himself upright and went to find lunch.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

Putty Romero was in the brig for almost a full day before Jodenny succeeded in seeing him.

The first time she tried, visiting hours were over. The second time she went, after breakfast the next day, Romero was in an “interview” and unavailable. The third time she went, right after lunch, the sergeant on duty tried to dissuade Jodenny from getting involved.

“It's military business, Miss Spring,” he said. Like the rest of the ship, the security office was lit only by emergency lights. The sergeant's eyes glinted red. “Nothing for passengers to worry about.”

“I'm not just a passenger,” Jodenny said. “I'm his aunt.”

That was the story she and Tingley had agreed on, at least.

A little white lie was permissible, under the circumstances.

“Family or not,” the sergeant said, patience wearing thin on his sharp face, “it's military business.”

“Yes, you said that. Still, I think the passengers have a right to know there's a thief onboard. No matter who his family is.”

The sergeant's face twisted up. He disappeared into the back of the office. Jodenny heard murmured voices. A tall chief with a bushy mustache stepped out and put his hands flat on the counter.

“Miss Spring,” he said. “I'm Chief Prescott.”

Jodenny said, “Nice to meet you, Chief. I've left three messages in your queue since last night. Did you receive them?”

Prescott was several centimeters taller than Jodenny, with a runner's physique. He peered down at her and said, easily, “You may have noticed that we're having a few problems with the ship. Sorry to say, it's not been an easy cruise. But rest assured, AT Romero's case is being handled as best we can.”

“He punched the captain's son,” Jodenny said. “How impartial can anyone be if they work for her?”

Prescott's hands lifted, spread. “We have safeguards in place, I promise. Regulations and rules.”

“One of which is that an accused sailor has the right to counsel, a chaplain, and visits from family,” Jodenny said. “TEAMSPACEJAGINST 14.01.2. There's no chaplain onboard, there's no legal-service office for sailors, and his wife and I are his only family.”

Prescott's fingers wagged a bit. “His wife's been in to see him.”

“And now I want to see him, too.”

“You know a lot about regulations, do you, Miss Spring?”

“The ship has a library, Chief Prescott.”

“So it does.” Prescott pursed his lips, thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Come on back. The brig's this way.”

As far as brigs went, it wasn't much. Two small compartments with locked hatches, a conference area, and a holding area where another guard kept watch. Very dim, and somewhat cold. Romero was escorted out by a female RT armed with a mazer. His expression was glum until he saw Jodenny.

“Aunt Ellen!” he said.

They were seated at the conference table, and the female RT seemed determined to stay, until Jodenny said to Chief Prescott, “14.01.03, subparagraph 2?” and Prescott took her out of the room with him.

Romero leaned across the tabletop and said, urgently, “I didn't do it! Well, I did, but I didn't mean to.”

Jodenny said, “What have they told you?”

“That if I sign a few forms, I'll get fined and be on probation and there will be a service-record entry, but it won't affect further promotions. But I don't care about getting promoted. I'm getting out when my enlistment ends.”

She had certainly heard that before. From Myell, in fact.

“If I don't sign,” Romero continued, “then I can have a hearing, but it won't take place until we get back to Fortune, and I have to stay in the brig for two or three more weeks, and they're trying to blackmail me, aren't they?”

“I wouldn't use the word
blackmail,
” Jodenny said carefully. “You do have the right to a hearing, and to legal counsel.”

“You could be my legal counsel!”

“I'm not a lawyer,” she said, appalled.

“But you don't have to be! A lawyer, that is. Anyone can be your counsel. Hanne looked it up in the regulations.”

“AT Romero, I'm getting off this ship at Earth. All the captain has to do is schedule your hearing for after that.”

His expression fell into pessimism. “You think I should sign their forms. Plead no-contest.”

“It would be the easy thing to do,” Jodenny said. And if Romero really wasn't concerned about ever advancing in rank, that was good, because no matter what they told him on the
Kamchatka,
the promotion board wouldn't look kindly on a no-contest assault charge. “You're sure he took the ring? Maybe it fell down into the drain. Someone maybe pulled a practical joke, telling you it was the captain's son.”

“Bobby Shu wasn't fooling,” Romero said tightly. “Everyone knows the kid's a thief.”

“You have to be careful of what everyone knows,” Jodenny said.

“Does that mean you won't help me?”

“I'll do what I can,” she said. “Don't sign anything yet.”

Jodenny tried tracking down Romero's division chief, but the man didn't return her calls. She didn't want to talk to AT Shu yet, not without more information. The ship wasn't large enough to have a full-time legal officer, so that collateral duty had gone to Lieutenant Sweeney.

“Figures,” Jodenny said, and went off to officer berthing.

He raised his hands when she appeared in his hatchway. “Whatever it is, I didn't do it.”

“AT Romero. You have to drop the charges.”

Sweeney leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs at his ankles. “Do I?”

“You know that it's the only fair thing to do.”

He picked up a piece of paper and squinted at it. “You're saying this as impartial Aunt Ellen?”

Jodenny looked for a place to sit down. His bunk was the only option. She remained standing. “Putty just graduated from Supply School last week. The same night, he got married. This is his first ship, we've lost all engine power, and someone steals his wife's wedding ring. Maybe he could have handled it better. But no, he punches Captain Balandra's son, who shouldn't have been down in crew berthing in the first place, and who we know to be a thief.”

“He says he wasn't in berthing yesterday morning.”

“You have surveillance cameras all over this ship.”

“We're on battery power,” Sweeney reminded her.

“The cameras are designed to work on battery power,” she retorted.

Sweeney leaned back farther. His chair creaked. “You know a lot about spaceship design.”

“I know common sense. Why punish Romero for what Malachy did?”

“Romero punched the kid,” Sweeney reminded her. “Broke his nose. The ship's doctor fixed it right up again, but that's not the point.”

Jodenny said, “If you ruin Romero's career now, he'll never be a good sailor. If you let Malachy get away with theft, he'll never be a good man. I can't believe Captain Balandra wants either of those things.”

“Neither does she want the crew thinking you can hit someone when you don't agree with them. She takes fighting very seriously.”

Jodenny tried a different tack.

“She can't hold a captain's mast or award nonjudicial punishment. He could appeal on the grounds that she's not impartial, and Fleet would have to review the case back on Fortune. Meanwhile, news leaks out to the media, and suddenly something that could have been taken care of very easily is a public relations stain for the military and for Captain Balandra herself,” Jodenny said. “For the good of the service, if nothing else, this needs to be resolved here and now, and fairly.”

“What do you consider fair?” Sweeney asked.

Jodenny pursed her lips. “First off, the return of AT Tingley's wedding ring.”

“Assuming it can be found. Next?”

“AT Romero attends an anger-management seminar, and does a week's extra duty as assigned by his division officer. No entries in his service record or performance eval.”

Sweeney laced his hands over his chest. “Three weeks.”

“Two.”

“Fine. Anything else?”

“Malachy Balandra is restricted to quarters until the ship returns to Fortune.”

Sweeney snorted. “Captain might not go for that.”

“She will,” Jodenny predicted. “She knows as well as anyone that it's bad for her command if the kid continues to run amuck.”

“You're sure you're a librarian?” Sweeney asked.

“Sure as rain,” she said.

She didn't hear anything more for the rest of the day. Tingley pinged to say that Romero was growing despondent and talking about signing the no-contest agreement just to get out of the brig.

“Don't you let him,” Jodenny said. “What he does affects his career and yours now. I'll talk to Lieutenant Sweeney.”

Tingley promised and hung up. From her bunk, Farber said, “What's all that about?”

“Nothing,” Jodenny said.

“Ellen,”
Farber said.

The hatch was open and the dim passage again full of passengers. The air both inside and outside had begun to smell rank. Jodenny didn't mind the odors, though she would kill for a hot cup of coffee.

“A sailor asked me for some help,” Jodenny said.

“What kind of help?”

“Doesn't matter.”

Farber said, “You're supposed to be keeping a low profile “

“I'm low,” Jodenny promised. “Very low.”

She didn't sleep much that night, worried over Myell on the Bainbridge loop. She dreamed he was lost at sea, floating on a raft surrounded by water dragons. He was dying of razor-sharp thirst and bone-racking hunger. When she woke, she thought about Putty Romero locked up in the brig, slowly going nuts. At breakfast in the cold, dim galley, she eyed other passengers in sweaters and coats and thought how many problems Captain Balandra already had, Putty Romero notwithstanding.

At noon, with thirty hours or so until the drop into Earth's solar system, Lieutenant Sweeney came looking for her.

“We've got a meeting,” he said.

“When?”

“Now.”

Jodenny followed him up to the C-deck conference room, a small square of a compartment barely large enough for a table and six chairs. Captain Balandra and Malachy were already there, the latter dressed in a white shirt with all the buttons done up. His face was pinched and unhappy, but no unhappier than his mother's.

“Miss Spring,” Captain Balandra said. “Please sit down. You too, Malachy.”