Ascending - James Alan Gardner [47]
My strategy worked most excellently: the tendrils snaked up from the chair almost as soon as I touched down, weaving tight around my body but leaving my arms free. Then I had to lower my hands quickly as the intestine dropped from the ceiling—kissing the top of my head, then creeping down over my face with an itchy tickle. This time Starbiter did not have to test my vision or hearing: as soon as the hood was in place, I could see the star-speckled blackness of the void.
“Go to long-range scan,” Uclod’s disembodied voice said. I do not know if the instruction was aimed at Lajoolie or Starbiter; either way, the starry view jumped and shimmered for a moment. When it stabilized again, I realized I was viewing the world in the monochrome I had experienced before—seeing through the special devices for perceiving great distances.
Even with this new perspective, I had difficulty picking out the Shaddill vessel; there was so much sky to survey, all around us, above and below. No doubt the stick-ship was pursuing from our rear, but with nothing to see but unmoving stars, I had no sense of which direction we were heading. At last I discerned a bristly dust mote just visible against the bleak constellations—definitely the stick-ship, though Uclod must have had very good eyes to spot it at such a distance.
“It’s gaining on us,” he said. “Not quickly, but it’s definitely gaining.”
“Then we must go faster,” I told him. “Encourage Star-biter to put on more speed.”
“Missy,” he answered, “my sweet little girl is already ripping along ten times faster than any Zarett before her. It doesn’t seem to hurt her, but I’ll be damned if I risk her life trying to speed up.”
“She is a good and willing Zarett. She will try to go faster if you ask.”
“I’m not going to ask! There’s no reason to drive her till she drops. Even if the Shaddill catch us, they won’t kill us, will they? They’re afraid of the League, just like anyone else.”
“But they can lock us in prison forever! The League does not care about kidnapping or enslavement; they only object to murder.”
“I know,” Uclod said. “That’s why we’re running, toots.”
We were not running fast enough: little by little, the image of the stick-ship grew. That was all I saw—the background stars did not shift, and I had no sense of motion in my body. It felt as if we were standing still, while the Shad-dill approached us as slow as squinch-bugs.
This is not good at all, I thought. It appeared as if the Pollisand’s teeny-tiny-eensy-weensy chance of disaster befalling me was not so minuscule as he implied. How long ago had I talked with him? Less than an hour. And already catastrophe clutched at my throat.
No wonder the Pollisand arrived when he did; and no wonder he so blithely promised to cure my Tired Brain. He must have known, even as we spoke, that the Shaddill were chasing us…and if he knew that, he must have guessed the Shaddill would commit horrid deeds on my person once they caught us. That is the whole reason Mr. Asshole Pollisand had tricked me into saying, “Oh no, the League should not hold you to blame if awful things transpire; I will assume responsibility myself.”
It seems I had been taken for a Sucker. Sometimes, even I can be a most grievous poop-head.
A Brilliant Idea
I desperately wanted to do something—to run on my own two feet, or throw stones at the incoming ship; but that was pure foolishness. We had no way to fight or intimidate the stick-people.
Unless…
“Uclod!” I called. “As official communications officer, I should like to broadcast a message.”
“What kind of message?” he asked.
“A loud one. Can you arrange for it to be heard at long distances?”
“Sure—Starbiter can broadcast in deep ether. God knows she’s brimming with enough power, we can probably cover fifteen cubic parsecs in a single burst.”
“Good. I want everyone to hear me.”
“We’ll hit all the public bands. Give me a second.”
I could hear soft noises nearby—Uclod working the Zarett’s controls. Then he murmured, “Okay, toots: you’re on the air. Can’t wait to hear you persuade the Shaddill