The Stars Blue Yonder by Sandra McDonald

Author:Sandra McDonald [McDonald, Sandra]
Language: nld
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780765320414
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2009-07-21T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Jodenny!” someone was saying, sternly. “Wake up.”

She opened two blurry eyes, saw whitewashed walls and antique furniture, and promptly closed her lids again. Something soft and lumpy was beneath her, some kind of bed that smelled like lemons. A pillow had been wedged beneath her head. Her body was heavy and full of pins and needles, as if she’d been sleeping for a long time. Her belly felt dull and weighted down with lead.

Fear had her bolting upright, or at least trying to.

“Easy!” Osherman caught her by the shoulders. “It’s okay.”

She slapped at his hands but didn’t dislodge them. He forced her down and she acquiesced, for the time being, only because her head pounded terribly and all the strength had run out of her body. The world swam with unbearable heat.

He said, “The baby’s fine. You hear me? She’s okay. So are you.”

Slowly her vision focused on Osherman. He was dressed in a formal white shirt and dark pants, and there was a strange caterpillar of a mustache sitting on his upper lip. Of all things, a mustache. The bed she was on had tall wooden posters at each corner, and the room had two square windows brilliant with sunshine.

“You talked.” Her voice came out rusty and she coughed. “Sam, you talked.”

He nodded. He looked thinner and older than she thought he should, and his face was sunburned.

Suspicion made her look down at her own clothes. She was dressed in a ridiculously long white nightshirt that belonged to someone twice her size. Junior’s bump was a solid presence underneath, and she rubbed her belly with both hands. Junior kicked out a hello and then kicked again, for good measure.

“Where are we?” Jodenny demanded.

Osherman scratched his neck. “Not where we were.”

“Terry?”

“Not here.”

“Where is he?” She started to swing her legs out of bed, but Osherman wouldn’t move out of her way. “Get off. Where is he?”

“You have to calm down,” he said. “He’s not here.”

“Where’s here?”

“Sydney, New South Wales,” he said.

She stared at him. “Sydney. As in Earth?”

“And it’s the year 1855,” Osherman added. “January. Summertime in this part of the world. And damn hot.”

She didn’t believe any of it. “How did we get here?”

“What do you remember?”

Bile rose up in her throat. The next thing she knew, she was vomiting into a ceramic pot that Osherman held for her. When she finally sagged back against the pillows, he held a wet cloth to her forehead.

“You’ve been sick,” he said. “But you’re getting better.”

Slowly her senses came back to her. She remembered the Roon ambush at Kultana and seeing the carrier open fire—first at the Fleet, then at Myell’s fragile little shuttle. She had screamed at that. In the terrifying moments afterward she seen the Confident on fire, the Melbourne splitting amidships. Then nothing.

Myell wasn’t dead. Couldn’t be dead. Not now, not then. She squinted at the room and at the open windows, took a deep breath. The sky outside was blue, and the air was sweltering.

“You’re talking,” she repeated, as if he didn’t realize how momentous that was.

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