Ascending - James Alan Gardner [163]
Even happy endings have little tears in their eyes.
And So…
Festina and I stood together in the receiving bay of Unfettered Destiny, staring out at the vastness of space. Cleaning robots from the stick-ship were beeping in disapproval as they fastidiously scrubbed the floors around us; the Cashling ship still smelled most disgusting, but the worst of the odors were fading. Moreover, the walls were all glass, so I felt quite at home…and it was my home, for I had appointed myself the new Prophet of this crusade.
Outside in the blackness, the ships of my disciples jostled for positions close to my magnificence. More arrived every hour; the entire Cashling Reach apparently regarded me as a delightful novelty, and untold numbers of supplicants were on their way to join my congregation.
“It won’t last, you know,” Festina said as we watched another ship appear in its faster-than-light way: popping into existence, with a stream of afterimages trailing out behind, as light from where it had been caught up with where it was. “You aren’t the first non-Cashling to set yourself up as a Prophet. People will flock in for a while, then lose interest as soon as something new comes along.”
“But in the meantime,” I said, “I will use them to accomplish great deeds.”
Festina nodded and turned back to the starry expanse before us. I had ordered Destiny to turn in such a way that we could only see a tiny edge of the mammoth stick-ship…or, as it had recently been christened, The Giant Vessel Propelled By A Single Oar.
The name was my idea. It was an excellent joke.
A small communication device chirped on Festina’s belt. Sergeant Aarhus’s voice said, “Admiral…ready to leave at your convenience.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
She glanced at the airlock. A borrowed Cashling yacht was docked there—supposedly the fastest vessel my followers could offer. A band of science persons from the Hemlock’s crew had adjusted the yacht’s computers to make it possible for the ship to charge its FTL field inside the nearest sun. Festina and Aarhus would fly back to New Earth at speeds no human had ever reached before.
“Aarhus tells me,” I said, “that when you reach New Earth you will become commander of the entire human fleet.” “Sergeant Aarhus has always had an exaggerated opinion of my importance,” Festina replied with a rueful chuckle. “Even if the entire High Council is thrown in jail, there’ll be plenty of admirals left, and they all outrank me. But Aarhus insists everyone else is tainted by association with the old guard; I’m the only one whose reputation is still squeaky clean. He thinks the second I walk into navy HQ, I’ll be made the fucking council’s president.”
“You will make an excellent fucking president, Festina. Will they give you a bigger gun?”
“No,” she said, “they’ll give me a great load of headaches. Even if I don’t get named to the council, I’ll have a million things to do. First and foremost, I’ll set my people to figuring out what the Shaddill did to make Homo sapiens stupider. If anything.” She stopped. “Damn! I wish we’d had time to ask them about that.”
“Do you think they would have told you?”
“I don’t know. But I honestly believe our guesses were right—the Shaddill deliberately dumbed down the Cashlings and the same thing is happening to us. Just look at the High Council of Admirals, for God’s sake; four hundred years ago, none of those corrupt bastards would have been put in charge of anything. But we’ve sunk so low, they qualified as the cream of the fleet. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”
“Do not whine, Festina. You will find out the truth and make everything better. If you are ever puzzled, ask yourself what I would do in a similar situation.”
“Then I’ll end up punching a lot of people in the nose.”
“If that is what it takes.”
Festina smiled. Leaning quickly toward me, she kissed me on the cheek. The left cheek. The one that was