Ascending - James Alan Gardner [104]
“That’s better,” Bell said as mouths all over her face sucked at the Hemlock’s air. “Now you wished to discuss ransom? I’m amenable. Your Outward Fleet has notoriously deep pockets.”
“We don’t need to bring the Admiralty into this,” Festina replied. “I can pay all our ransoms with property I have ready to hand.”
“Property?” Bell repeated. “You have no property, slave. The ship is ours. Its equipment is ours. Even your clothes are ours…although Miss See-Through Savage can keep her flea-bitten jacket. Disgusting.”
“I was thinking of a different sort of property,” Festina told her. “Intellectual property.”
“Oh merde,” said Lord Rye, with many mouths sighing. “You aren’t going to offer us military secrets, are you?” By now, he too had removed his helmet; unsurprisingly, his head was striped red-and-white like his suit. “Some crusade thirty years ago accepted military secrets as a ransom, then couldn’t sell them to anyone. Nobody cared.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, darling,” Lady Bell told him, “that’s a complete myth. A legend. Probably started by the Outward Fleet itself to discourage espionage.” She turned back to Festina. “What kind of military secrets are we talking about? Access codes? Crypto algorithms? Names of spies in Cash-ling space?”
“I didn’t say I was offering military secrets,” Festina replied.
“Then what are you offering?”
“Military secrets. But not the kind you think. These secrets are fat, wet, and juicy. The kind a news agency would pay millions for. And it’s all yours if you’ll let us go.”
Festina began the story of Alexander York and his exposé. Since I had heard this tale before, I did not pay attention; instead, I looked for something in the transport bay I might find amusing. There was very little there—I could not spot the Pollisand hiding in tree paintings, and the rest of the room was bare…except for the people, of course: Festina, the Cashlings, Aarhus, Uclod, Lajoolie…and Nimbus.
The cloud man was floating some distance away from the rest of our party. He had clearly been offended by Rye dismissing Zaretts as a vassal race; therefore, Nimbus had withdrawn, hovering like a storm cloud against the rear wall of the chamber. As his sibling-in-Shaddillhood, I did not like to see him upset…and anyway, it was tedious listening to Festina speak of things I already knew, so I sidled away from the group and went to offer Nimbus some sisterly consolation.
Umushu
“Hello,” I said softly. “How are you feeling?”
Since he did not have eyes, Nimbus could not glare in bitter remonstrance; but the shudder that went through his mist conveyed a similar response. “Why should you care about the feelings of a vassal race?”
“Do not blame me for an alien’s words.” Lowering my voice, I added, “In my opinion, these prophets are arrogant and hurtful. Are all Cashlings like that?”
“They’re all fools,” Nimbus answered in a fierce whisper. “Dangerous ones.”
I looked back at the Cashlings’ spindly bodies; they had shown they could move most quickly, but they did not look strong enough to punch with any great effect. “How are they dangerous?” I asked.
A tendril of his mist swirled toward me, brushing my cheek like tingly dust. “They’re umushu,” the tendril whispered softly into my ear.
“What is that?” I whispered back.
“A fictional monster from Divian folklore. A corpse whose spirit has departed but who doesn’t fall down. Going through the motions of life, but no longer truly conscious.”
“Lord Rye and Lady Bell are zombies?” I asked with delectable horror.
“Not real ones…but they might as well be.” The dusty tendril of his being still hovered close to my ear, brushing lightly against my skin. “There