Ascending - James Alan Gardner [114]
Festina was not to be rushed. She crouched beside Uclod and Lajoolie, asking in a low voice, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” Uclod mumbled. “Just…getting used to the smell…”
“I’ll stay with them,” Nimbus told Festina. “To make sure they’re all right.”
“No need,” Uclod said, wiping his mouth. “We’ll come with you.” He turned toward Lajoolie. “Right, honey?”
Lajoolie said nothing, but nodded. She looked most miserable indeed; I wondered if she was simply feeling ill or if she was ashamed to have vomited in public. The precepts of “femininity” demanded by her strange upbringing were still a great mystery to me. Nevertheless, I suspected that spewing half-digested choilappa was not considered the height of womanly allure.
Thoughts On A Spiritual Vocation
The corridors of Unfettered Destiny were no cleaner than its receiving bay—specked with patchy nubbins of substances best unexamined, and cluttered with boxes containing wrinkly clothes, water-stained paper, or cracked ceramic candleholders. Most of these boxes had been shoved against the wall in an attempt to leave a clear path down the middle…but the ship’s passageways were so narrow, one was often forced to step over chunky obstructions. With their long legs, the Cashlings experienced no trouble; those of us with shorter gait did not have such an easy time.
Festina in particular was constantly compelled to hop over ungainly hurdles. She succeeded with admirable grace, for I never noticed the slightest stumble or hesitation. However, the look on her face was not gracious at all, and from time to time I heard her muttering imprecations in the colorful tongue of her ancestors.12
On the positive side, Unfettered Destiny appeared to be constructed of glass all the way through, not just in the receiving bay. As we walked, I could glance behind my shoulder and see our ship drawing away from the Hemlock. We drifted silently into the blackness as another small ship from the crusade took our former position at Hemlock’s airlock. Lady Bell must have sent instructions to her followers while she was at that control console back in the receiving bay; now the disciples were hurrying to obey their prophet’s commands.
I could not help thinking, It must be excellent to be a prophet, if people do whatever you say. So I spent a brief time wondering how one became a prophet in the Cashling culture, and if there were any negative aspects to a prophet’s calling. Having a flotilla of docile adherents was all very well, but prophethood would not be so fine if one was required to practice overzealous chastity or to cut out one’s heart in a ritual manner at the coming of winter. On the other hand, if one simply declared, “I am prophet,” and people bent themselves obsequiously to fulfill your slightest whim…
That would not be a bad profession for a woman trying to make her way in an unfamiliar world. It would not be a bad job at all.
12 Festina curses most casually in English. When she curses in Spanish, it is serious.
21
WHEREIN I MAKE A VAIN ATTEMPT TO BECOME A RECORDING STAR
Reaching The Studio
“Oar? Oar? Oar!”
Someone was tugging on my arm—Festina, gripping me tightly in Unfettered Destiny’s corridor.
“What is wrong?” I asked.
“We’re here. At the studio. You walked straight past it.” She stared at me keenly. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine, Festina. I was simply lost in thought.”
“Really.” She did not let go of my arm. “You’re sure you’re okay? Sergeant Aarhus told me you passed out in Nimbus’s room…and I noticed you acting strangely in Hemlock’s transport bay.”
“There is nothing wrong with me,” I said, detaching myself from her grasp. “If you think my brain has become faulty, you are quite mistaken.” The look of concern on her face did not lessen. “Truly,” I told her, “I am perfectly well…though I have not eaten in four years, and therefore would benefit from the intake of appropriate nourishment.”
“We’ll get you some food, don’t worry,