Ascending - James Alan Gardner [94]
Though men of my own species do not have hair on their arms, I am not so prejudiced as to disdain extra epidermal embellishment. In the course of my relations with humans, I have discovered that hairy arms can be excellently cushy.
Before I could remark upon the sergeant’s pleasant pelt, Lajoolie knelt beside me. “Are you sure you’re all right? Why don’t you lie back down?”
“I do not need to,” I told her. “And if I sit up, I can absorb light through my back as well as my front.”
To do that, I had to take off my jacket completely. As I did so, Aarhus averted his eyes; and for a moment, I felt a pang of concern, wondering if he was turning away because he did not like the way I looked when I was not covered by clothes. I told myself this could not possibly be—more likely, he suffered from overdelicate modesty, whereby he considered it rude to stare at my unclad flesh. Such a quality would soon vex me if he did not Get Over It…but in the short run, I decided to regard it as endearing.
“How are you all?” I asked in hearty bright tones. “Are you as well as I am? What has been happening since I began my perfectly normal nap?”
“Nothing much,” Aarhus replied, still looking at the wall rather than me. “You’ve only been out for an hour. No one’s come by with any news, and Nimbus is still locked like a rock around his kid.”
He jabbed a thumb at the chair where Nimbus had been sitting. The cloud man was still there, enclosing his daughter in the same quartzlike form as before. “Have you not even poked him,” I inquired, “to see if he reacts?”
“No,” Aarhus answered. “No poking unless the captain or admiral okays it.”
“Hmph!” I said, thinking the sergeant’s attitude most mulish. I was halfway tempted to poke the cloud man in sheer defiance…but such antics would be most childish, and perhaps would make Aarhus think less of me. The notion of having him love me still played in the back of my mind; and although the rest of my mind derided this notion as a foolish dream idyll—an Infantile Whim—I still found myself desirous of his good favor.
It is truly astonishing how a sane and clever one can be torn by ill-founded impulses.
“Now, Oar,” Lajoolie said, “you really should relax.” She laid her hand carefully on top of my head, precisely where ear-globes would be attached if I belonged to her species. I suppose that to Divians, this was a comforting gesture—or perhaps a means of determining one’s state of health, like feeling for a pulse. “Are you okay now?” she asked. “You went a bit…out of control.”
“I was not out of control,” I answered. “There is nothing wrong with my brain.”
“You’re perfectly clear-headed,” said Aarhus.
“Yes,” I said, then realized he had been making a joke about my personal transparency. “But I am clear-headed,” I insisted. “I am not dizzy, I am not Tired, I am not filled with irrational fantasies…”
The ship gave a sudden lurch. I looked at Lajoolie and Aarhus. “You felt that too, correct?”
How We Were Found
Before they could answer, the ship lurched again. This time, there was no possibility of mistake. Aarhus was thrown against the cabin wall, hitting hard with his shoulder. Lajoolie lost her balance and toppled onto me…but I was falling sideways myself, striking the hard cabin floor with a resounding crack. (That was, of course, the floor breaking—I am made of sterner stuff than whatever substance underlies the carpets of the human navy.)
I shoved Lajoolie off me just as the ship heaved in the opposite direction. She steadied herself by grabbing Nimbus’s chair; the chair was firmly secured to the floor and did not budge, even with Lajoolie’s great weight flung against it. I caught hold of the desk, which was also bolted down—in fact, all the furniture in the room was fastened in place, except for the desk’s chair, which slid on metal railings. This was a Wise Safety Precaution in case of Navigational Upset…for when Royal Hemlock shifted again,