Ascending - James Alan Gardner [115]
She attempted to take me by the arm and guide me through a nearby door. I did not wish to be guided—I was not some frail muddle-head whose brain might go blank at any moment, I had simply been distracted by the notion of becoming a prophet. There is nothing sinister about a momentary preoccupation; it was most annoying for Festina to Show Undue Concern. Therefore, I shrugged off her efforts to baby me, and surged boldly through the door myself.
I had never visited a broadcast studio before, but I expected such a place to contain ostentatious banks of Technology. Instead, the room was just a large empty space with jet-black carpet on the floor. The walls were glass, but with a fuzzy feathered texture; this had the effect of suppressing echoes, for the room was extremely quiet, as if some Uncanny Force were muting every sound we made. The very air seemed to press against my eardrums, stifling noises before they reached me: a most eerie and disturbing effect. Compared to the clutter in the rest of the ship, an area with no knickknacks or dead animals should have cheered my heart…but the atmosphere made me most edgy, as if I were cut off from important auditory input that might warn me of danger.
Lady Bell, on the other hand, was clearly glad to reach the place after fretting through so much delay. No sooner had she entered than she threw herself down on the carpet…and the woolly black surface reshaped itself beneath her, the floor acquiring bumps and hollows molded perfectly to the lady’s body. I had to admit she looked striking, the frost green of her skin almost fluorescent against the heavy black background. This might have been why the floor was so dark; she would not have stood out as well against the ship’s clear glass.
“Sit down, sit down,” she said with expansive cheer, gesturing to the floor beside her. “Make yourself comfortable. Can my darling husband get you anything? Accelerants? Placations? Our synthesizers have complete pharmaceutical indices for Earthlings and Divians; it’ll only take a second to whip up your favorite stimulant.”
“How about food?” Festina said, making no effort to seat herself. “Something humans can digest.” She glanced in my direction. “Preferably transparent.”
I lowered my head, trying not to show shame. It is mortifying when your Faithful Sidekick believes you are crazed with hunger and she makes a scene to ensure you are properly fed. I knew I could not die from starvation, but I was not so certain about embarrassment.
Fortunately, Lady Bell was not such a one as could feel urgency about someone else’s problem. She therefore did not make a fuss: Oh yes, we must quickly bring sustenance for the poor dear and make her lie down in the meantime. She merely told Rye, “See to that, darling!” and puckered several of her cranial orifices at him. He muttered something in the universal language of unappreciated persons and slunk out of the studio.
“Now everyone just sit down!” Lady Bell said brightly. “I don’t want you pacing during the show. Pacing will upset the audience—not to mention that the lights and cameras will have a hard time following you. Shadows on one’s face can completely ruin credibility. Sit down, sit down!”
“Where are the cameras?” I asked, looking around the blank room.
“Built into the walls, dear.”
“But the walls are clear glass. They do not contain cameras.”
“You’re clear glass, and you contain all kinds of things: lungs, kidneys, a heart…pity you only have one of those, but let’s pray it holds out till the recording is over. And your heart will last ten times longer if you just sit down!”
Grudgingly, I lowered myself to the floor. I do not enjoy anyone offering advice about my health; and I knew I would not enjoy the floor either. Sure enough, the moment my bottom touched the carpet, it began to squirm beneath me. (The carpet, I mean, not my bottom.) A sizable gully sank down to accommodate my feet, while a woolly black hump rose to