"Then we must not let that happen," I said. "We shall battle the Cashlings and… and…"
Sergeant Aarhus just looked at me. He did not have to explain why we could not fight; if we put up resistance, the Cashlings would just go away, leaving us to drift in space. Perhaps we could merelypretend to submit until we were taken aboard the Cashling ships… but by then, they might have locked us in irons. Even worse, the many people of Royal Hemlock would be billeted over all the small vessels of the Cashling crusade. I would likely be separated from Festina and Nimbus and little Starbiter and Uclod and Lajoolie and even Aarhus.
That would be Just Awful.
"So what will the Cashlings do first?" I asked Aarhus.
He thought about it. "With our communications dead, they can’t just call and ask us to surrender. They’ll have to send someone over in person."
"Where will this emissary arrive?"
"The only safe way into the ship is our manual airlock. That’s back in the rear transport bay."
"Then we must go there," I said. "We shall meet this Cashling and discuss terms."
I picked up a glow-wand from the heap around me. Getting to my feet, I was still quite woozy… so I gathered the other wands too and hugged the whole bundle to my chest. "Lajoolie," I said, "please carry my jacket for me; I do not wish to wear it now, but I shall put it on before we make contact with the Cashlings."
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Aarhus asked. "Cashlings are quick to take offense, and we really don’t want to piss them off. Maybe we should let someone else talk to them."
"If you are afraid to confront them," I said, "you may remain behind. I can find the rear transport bay without your assistance; I have been there once before."
Aarhus made a face. "All I’m saying is that talking to these guys will take tact and diplomacy."
"I am excellent at tact and diplomacy. Let us go."
I strode off down the hall with dauntless determination. Lajoolie fell in behind me, and Nimbus drifted along as well, nestling baby Starbiter in the midst of his mist.
With a heavy sigh, Sergeant Aarhus joined our little procession.
19: WHEREIN I ENCOUNTER MORE ALIENS; AND THEY ARE NOT NICE
The Drawbacks Of Photosynthesis
Moving through the corridors was a Buoyant Experience. At first, I thought this was simply the result of renewed health and purpose; but then I realized my step was lighter because I was lighter. Gravity aboard the ship had begun to diminish… and though I could not leap impossibly long distances, I certainly possessed more spring than usual. This was a most interesting experience, and it kept me amused (bounce, bounce, bounce!) all the way to the transport bay.
By the time we got to our destination, Festina had arrived too. This is an excellent trait in a Faithful Sidekick: anticipating where you will be and attending upon you. Of course, Festina feigned surprise to see me, and pretended she had merely come to await the people who had taken Hemlock in tow… but that is what she had to say, because an important navy admiral cannot admit she feels lost and lonely without her very best friend.
Uclod was in the transport bay too, which meant that he and Lajoolie found it necessary to have a tender reunion.
Their whisperings and touchings proved most vexatious, so I turned my back on them in a very pointed manner; but Festina, Aarhus, and Nimbus were no more amusing than the Divians, because Festina wanted to be told how Nimbus had induced baby Starbiter to cry for help. This led to much repetitious talk about outreach crusades and why it was not at all wrong for the cloud man to tickle his daughter… which was very quite boring, because I had heard it already.
My only recourse was to walk around the bay on my own, occasionally muttering in the hope someone would ask if I had achieved a brilliant insight. No one took notice at all, which made me annoyed and irritable… but just as I was about to berate them for their churlish lack of attention, the heat of my anger turned to spinning dizziness and I sat down hard on the floor.
Oof.
Living on light is a fine thing indeed, but it is not enough to sustain substantial activity. This explains why plants do not perform hand-springs. (That and the fact that plants have no hands.) I still carried an armload of glow-wands, but the energy they provided was not enough to keep me going if I persisted in moving about.
"Are you all right, Oar?" Festina called from somewhere behind me.
"I am fine," I said, forcing my voice to be strong. "I am simply…" For a moment, I could not think of a suitable excuse why I might have thumped down hard on the deck; but then I caught sight of the rainbow-colored hemlock tree painted on the wall not far from me. "I am simply contemplating the art," I said — because I did not want the others to treat me as a tottery invalid who could not participate in important activities.
"All right," Festina called. "You enjoy the art."
That is easy for her to say, I thought. The tree on the wall was not enjoyable in any way. For True Artistic Merit, a painting should have dried globs of pigment protruding from the surface so that viewers can pick off little bits and sniff what the paint smells like; at least that is what my sister and I concluded as we developed Our Own Personal Aesthetic with the ancient paintings on display in our home village. But the hemlock image in front of me was tediously two-dimensional, with no protruding bits at all. I was about to make an astute critical remark on this lack of texture, when I noticed the tree possessed a feature I had previously overlooked.
Two glowing red eyes burned dimly amidst the multicolored foliage… as if a certain headless creature was concealed behind the leaves.
Talking To The Painting
"Pollisand?" I whispered softly.
"Who else?" he replied. "The fucking Cheshire Cat?"
He was speaking in his normal raspy-sharp voice. I looked back quickly at the others, but they showed no sign of hearing him. Considering how loud he sounded in my ears, it seemed most strange they had not noticed.
"Nah," the Pollisand said, "your buddies aren’t in on this conversation. It’s just between you and me, sweetums."
"In other words, you are not really here. You are projecting sights and sounds into my mind again…" I stopped. "But I am not connected to Starbiter! How can you contact my brain when I am not linked to anything?"
"Hey," the Pollisand said, "didn’t I tell you I’m seventy-five trillion rungs above you on the evolutionary ladder? Why should I need a Zarett to do my projecting for me?"
"Hmm," I hmmed, thinking very hard. This Pollisand had a most irksome habit of not answering questions — he simply made it seem like he was responding, when he was really evading the subject. In this particular situation, it occurred to me he might be attempting to hide something most important indeed.
"Did you do something to me?" I asked in whispered outrage. "When you took me away and mended my bones, did you do more? Did you perhaps place a Scientific Device in my brain that allows you to link with me at anytime?"
"Ooo," said the Pollisand, "aren’t we clever! At least one of us is. Much cleverer than Dr. Havel. He didn’t find a thing. Then again, maybe there’s nothing to find."