Therefore, I closed my eyes, steeled myself, and looked again. This time, I scanned up the Hemlock’s length, beginning at the bottom, moving carefully toward the top… until far far away, near the ship’s nose, my gaze fell on a dark object attached to the Hemlock like a leech on a trout.
It was a stick; or perhaps I should call it a twig compared to the much bigger sticks of the Shaddill ship. Even so, I could see it was the same type of thing: a flexible tube that had embedded itself in the Hemlock’s forward hull. As I watched, it waved back and forth in lazy patterns, like seaweed in a gentle current.
How long had the twig been attached there… and what was it meant to accomplish? Had it perhaps injected Dangerous Substances through the Hemlock’s outer skin, horrible gases or diseases that would soon incapacitate those aboard? Or could it have contained horrid alien warriors who were even now creeping through the ship’s pitch-black corridors, ambushing crew members in the darkness? Perhaps the alien invaders could transform their persons into a semblance of those they ambushed, and the entity who appeared to be Sergeant Aarhus was actually a loathsome jelly-thing waiting for a chance to implant me with its gibbering spawn.
But I did not think so. All the aliens I had met since leaving Melaquin were stodgy disappointments who did not shapeshift or anything… and what is the point of being an alien if you do not have Uncanny Abilities with which to incite terror in other species? If you cannot disrupt the lives and sanity of other races, you might as well stay at home.
But of course, aliens never listen to me — the big poop-heads.
The Purpose Of The Twig
"Holy shit," Aarhus whispered, staring up at the twig. "We got tagged, didn’t we?"
"Apparently so," Nimbus agreed. "The Shaddill must have shot that at Hemlock like a torpedo."
"What do you think it is?" Aarhus asked. "Maybe a homing beacon?"
"Probably. When Starbiter hit the Shaddill ship, she obviously disabled them somehow — maybe took out their engines. The Shaddill saw us get picked up by Hemlock and knew they couldn’t follow until they’d made repairs… so they harpooned your ship with a signal device that would let them track us."
"Are you sure it is just a signal?" I asked. "Could it not be a tube full of shapeshifting warrior-droids programmed to replace us one by one?"
"Let’s stay with the signal theory," Aarhus said. "But if we’re lucky, the Shaddill won’t get their ship repaired till everyone’s evacuated and halfway to Jalmut. I like picturing the bastards coming to capture Hemlock, only to find it’s nothing but a big empty paperweight."
Behind us, the airlock made thudding sounds. Aarhus had closed the door once we entered the receiving bay; now the hatch opened again, revealing Uclod, Lajoolie, Lady Bell and Lord Rye, plus my friend Festina, who must have finished making arrangements with Captain Kapoor.
Festina’s nose wrinkled as the stench of Unfettered Destiny struck her, but she quickly assumed a straight face. Uclod, on the other hand, doubled over and began making hiss-whistle sounds, clutching at his stomach. A moment later, he disgorged his last dinner with a great resounding splash. Lajoolie placed her hand on his back and bent as if to say, "There, there"… but then, she too began to hiss-whistle, her whole body shaking.
When a woman that large gets the shakes, it is a titanic vibration indeed. I believe I could feel the ship trembling in response. This impressed me so much, I barely had the presence of mind to leap backward; I am fortunate to be an excellent leaper, because Lajoolie’s subsequent spew splattered widely in all directions.
"Divians," Aarhus muttered, looking down at his dampened boots. "Meticulously bioengineered into thirty-five different sub-breeds, and they all have weak stomachs."
"You pigs!" cried Lady Bell to our friends. "You’re making a mess of my floor!"
We all stared at her for a moment; then even Uclod and Lajoolie started to laugh.
Supreme Impatience
Lady Bell was not such a one as to tolerate laughter. Muttering angry whoosh-whoosh sounds, she tapped a button on her spacesuit’s stomach, making the suit slump off like wilting blades of grass. Underneath, her entire body was identical to the suit, frost green with violet spottles. She paused for a moment with the clothes in a heap around her ankles… and I had the impression she was striking a pose, hoping someone would say admiring things about her unclad person or at least gawk with envy. When none of us did, the lady petulantly kicked the suit loose from her feet and stomped toward an electronic console set into the wall. Using many orifices at once, she began making gushy noises; these must have been instructions in the Cashling tongue because seconds later, the airlock closed and the ship gave a tremendous shudder.
"Finally!" she exclaimed in English. "If everyone’s wasted enough time, may we please start recording the broadcast?"
Nobody answered. The Divians were still doubled over, and Festina was staring through the roof at Royal Hemlock. I could tell the moment she caught sight of the twig-thing clinging to the hull; her jaw grew tight under the purplish skin of her cheek. She turned to Lady Bell and asked, "Does your ship have long-range scanners?"
"Of course."
"Can you call up a readout?"
"When we get to the broadcast studio," Lady Bell snapped. "Let’s go!"
Without waiting for a reply, she strode toward a door at the far end of the room. Her elongated limbs let her cover the ground most rapidly indeed — we could not have kept up with her, even if we ran. As it turned out, none of us showed any desire to match her speed; therefore she was forced to stop at the exit, gesturing peevishly for us to hurry along.
Festina was not to be rushed. She crouched beside Uclod and Lajoolie, asking in a low voice, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, sure," Uclod mumbled. "Just… getting used to the smell…"
"I’ll stay with them," Nimbus told Festina. "To make sure they’re all right."
"No need," Uclod said, wiping his mouth. "We’ll come with you." He turned toward Lajoolie. "Right, honey?"
Lajoolie said nothing, but nodded. She looked most miserable indeed; I wondered if she was simply feeling ill or if she was ashamed to have vomited in public. The precepts of "femininity" demanded by her strange upbringing were still a great mystery to me. Nevertheless, I suspected that spewing half-digested choilappa was not considered the height of womanly allure.
Thoughts On A Spiritual Vocation
The corridors of Unfettered Destiny were no cleaner than its receiving bay — specked with patchy nubbins of substances best unexammed, and cluttered with boxes containing wrinkly clothes, water-stained paper, or cracked ceramic candleholders. Most of these boxes had been shoved against the wall in an attempt to leave a clear path down the middle… but the ship’s passageways were so narrow, one was often forced to step over chunky obstructions. With their long legs, the Cashlings experienced no trouble; those of us with shorter gait did not have such an easy time.
Festina in particular was constantly compelled to hop over ungainly hurdles. She succeeded with admirable grace, for I never noticed the slightest stumble or hesitation. However, the look on her face was not gracious at all, and from time to time I heard her muttering imprecations in the colorful tongue of her ancestors.[12]
[12] — Festina curses most casually in English. When she curses in Spanish, it is serious.