Ascending - James Alan Gardner [129]
“The stun-grenade,” Lady Bell answered, a theatrical quiver in her voice. “It caught my right foot; I’m sure it shut down at least one of my hearts and three whole lungs.”
“Stunners don’t interfere with hearts and lungs,” Festina said. “Otherwise, they’d be lethal weapons, wouldn’t they?”
“Are you implying—” Lady Bell began, but Festina cut her off. “Don’t start. Just ask the ship what the conditions are like outside the airlock.”
I expected the lady to whine in protest…but for once she did not argue. Instead, Bell muttered a few words in Cashlingese; a moment later, the gusty ship-soul voice answered with a rapid-fire report that would have interested me greatly if I had understood a word of it.
At last, the ship-soul stopped speaking. “Well?” Uclod asked.
“We’re inside the Shaddill vessel,” Lady Bell said. “In a big hangar with lots of other captured ships. Nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere—almost the same as we’re breathing now.”
“And the temperature?”
Lady Bell called to the ship-soul, got an answer, and said, “In human measurements, thirty-four degrees Celsius.”
“Toasty,” Aarhus grumbled. “We’ll all end up sweating like pigs.”
“Speak for yourself, Viking boy,” Festina said. “Where I come from, thirty-four is a nice spring day.” She looked around at the rest of us. “Care for a walk outside?”
“I wish to locate the Shaddill,” I said, “for I have not yet punched anyone in the nose.” My right arm was clumsily able to move on its own now—the fingers felt as weak as worms, but I trusted the debility would pass. I am excellent at speedy recuperation.
Uclod said, “I wouldn’t mind kicking some butt myself.” He turned to Lajoolie. “How about you, honey?”
The big woman did not answer. Her eyes and nose were still runny, and her face had a look of haunted guilt. I do not think she found any consolation in knowing the creature she destroyed was only a robot; she had thought he was a living man when she struck him, and her act of violence weighed torturously upon her mind. Perhaps she even realized one other thing—with a few blows of her hand, she had crushed a gut made of metal. How much more damage would she have done to mere flesh and blood?
“Lajoolie does not wish to kick butts,” I told Uclod, “and she does not have to. The rest of us are fully capable of handling dangerous situations.”
“Sure,” said Festina, laying her hand on Lajoolie’s arm, “if you want to take it easy for a while—”
“What?” Lady Bell interrupted. “You’re just going to let her play coward? If you get in another fight, you’ll say, ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter if the strongest person on our side hides in a corner, we don’t care if we win or lose so long as we don’t hurt someone’s feelings!’”
The Cashling was only saved because Uclod and I jumped toward her at the same time. The little orange man bounced against my shoulder, knocking me aside and knocking himself the other way; before we could converge again, Festina and Aarhus had stepped in to stop us from ramming Lady Bell’s head through any orifice it would fit.
“We don’t have time for this!” Festina snapped. “You two,” she said, pointing at Uclod and me, “back off. You,” she said, pointing at Lady Bell, “shut the fuck up. You,” she said, pointing at Lajoolie, “you I trust to do the right thing if it becomes necessary. Even if it means using your fists again. Got me?”
Lajoolie hesitated a long moment, then nodded silently. Her eyes were rimmed with red.
“Fine,” Festina said, “we have an understanding. Now let’s get moving.”
She headed for the airlock door, with Aarhus striding at her heels. As Festina passed the robot of Admiral Macleod, she stopped and picked up the stun-pistol that had fallen from the android’s hand. The sergeant nodded approvingly.
Lady Bell lingered sullenly behind for a count of three; then she must have realized she was standing within arm’s reach of Uclod and me without anyone near enough to intervene if hostilities broke