Before I go there, however, I shall have to visit New Earth. When all the navy villains are brought to trial, I shall be required to give testimony… which I shall do most prettily and with great condemning vigor.
Alas, Festina tells me it will take a long time for any admirals to wind up in court. First there must be an Extended Media Circus, then an Orgy Of Knee-Jerk Recrimination, then some Somber Universal Soul-Searching, followed by a Period Of Desensitization Due To Massive Overexposure, leading to a Backlash Of Cynical Indifference, then Collective Amnesia And Perversely Partisan Revisionism, finally culminating in Cattle-Call Jury Auditions wherein hundreds of out-of-work actors vie for "cushy all-expenses-paid gigs with a high exposure quotient and very few lines to memorize."[15]
[15] — It is possible Festina was making a joke when she gave me this list of events. Or not.
So my presence will not be required on New Earth for months or even years. Festina will go there immediately, of course. Sergeant Aarhus will accompany her, for he intends to serve as her personal bodyguard. When he spoke of this to Festina, she contended she needed no bodyguard… but he said she did, since many powerful admirals now hate her and wish her harm. Anyway, Aarhus feels most guilty about Nimbus’s death — the sergeant believes that if he (Aarhus) had only done a better job as a security mook, Festina would never have found herself choking and the cloud man would still be alive. This line of thinking does not make sense; but grief makes fools of us all, and even I sometimes catch myself wondering if there was something I could have done to save the cloud man’s life.
Nimbus was my brother and my friend. I have not had so many friends in my life; I could tell you the exact number, but the count is so low I do not wish to reveal it for fear you will think there is something wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with me at all — except that at the moment I am sad Nimbus will not see his daughter grow up big and strong.
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 not purple.
She drew back abruptly as if struck by sudden shyness. Turning away from me, she looked through the glass hull at the Cashling vessels congregating around us. "You’ll have to take it slow on your way back to Melaquin. Those small ships can’t go very fast — you might take two weeks to get home."
"I am in no hurry," I told her. "During those two weeks, I can entertain everyone by telling my story and propounding my thoughts about the universe. I am a Prophet now, Festina; I have an obligation to share my wisdom."
She laughed. "If anyone has the kind of wisdom to catch the Cashlings’ attention, you’re the one. Still, you’ve got a big job ahead — trying to undo the Shaddill’s legacy." Her face grew sober. "You realize the Cashlings are all brain-damaged, right? Whatever the Shaddill did to them, the effects could be irreversible. The Shaddill had more than four thousand years to turn the Cashlings into self-absorbed ninnies… and it might not be something you can fix."
"If I cannot fix the Cashlings, I can still use them to fix my own people. That is a start."
I moved forward so I could see a bit more of the stick-ship; it would be traveling with us to Melaquin, bringing its Blood Honey fountain. No one could tell whether the honey would actually succeed in reviving the millions of Tired persons who lay dormant on my home planet — perhaps the honey had only worked on me because the Pollisand gave me special treatments four years ago. However, I had great hopes. I would lead my Cashling disciples down to the surface of Melaquin with bottles full of Blood Honey, and together we would seek out the cities, towns, and villages hidden all over the globe.
A dab of purple on each person’s face might bring my world back to life.
Festina’s thoughts must have turned in the same direction as mine, for when I glanced her way, she was staring at my cheek. "You’re sure Blood Honey is a cure?" she asked softly.
"Dr. Havel has examined me. He says my brain is now undertaking a natural process of pruning: divesting itself of childish linkages to make me a full-fledged Adult. I am not so happy at losing what I have always been. I was an excellent person, Festina, even if you thought me juvenile but the doctor believes this pruning is what I require to overcome mental stagnation. The same process may stir the rest of my people from their stu
pors." "And all you have to do," Festina murmured, "is blemish your entire species."
"It is not a blemish," I interrupted her. "It is a medicinal beauty mark."
"And you feel all right?" she asked. "You don’t feel… I don’t know. It’s possible the purple guck is bad for you. Slowly possessing your brain or something."
"My brain is just fine," I told her. "I have not had a single incident of Tiredness since the Pollisand did this to me. In addition, I have become more worldly-wise since my transformation. For example, you will notice I am not making a scene about you leaving me again; I am now such a one as can handle cruel emotional abandonment."
Festina looked at me with a thoughtful look in her eye. "You’re now such a one as can joke about cruel emotional abandonment." She smiled. "I think, Oar, you’re going to become a very interesting woman."
I do not know which one of us started the hug; but I wanted it very much and it happened, so that is all that matters. This time I did not feel sheepish and self-conscious about embracing my dearest friend.
Not even a little bit.
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