"As for their outreach crusades," he went on, gesturing vaguely at some point beyond the ship’s hull, "it’s traditional for a prophet to gather his or her followers and wander through space every few years. Mostly they visit other Cashling worlds, picking up new converts at every stop and losing just as many old ones. The turnover in people is substantial: after three stops, a crusade seldom has anyone it started with… not even the original prophet. Someone new decides he or she is a prophet and takes over the whole flotilla."

Lajoolie favored me with a weak smile. "My husband once told me crusades have nothing to do with belief. They come from a powerful instinct to homogenize the population: to break up communities that are getting too insular and to shuffle around the breeding pool. Uclod says the Cashlings have had mass migrations throughout their entire history; crusades are just the latest excuse."

Aarhus nodded. "I’ve heard that too. But never say that to a Cashling either, unless you want to drive the bastard into a rage. Let’s not do that — we’re in enough trouble as it is."

"Because they wish to take us as slaves?" I said. "We should inform them that nice religions do not do such things."

"I told you, Pu Naram isn’t a religion; the Cashlings call it a ‘proven economic doctrine.’ " Aarhus made a face. "And even though the working definition of Pu Naram changes ten times a year, it always retains one core principle: screwing aliens, especially ones who can’t fight back. Over the years, outreach crusades have come across a lot of aliens in distress — the Cashlings don’t have a navy like ours, so crusades are the primary source of search-and-rescue. By long-established tradition, a passing crusade won’t save your life until you swear ten years of indentured servitude."

"But they must save our lives," I said. "Are they not required to do so by the League of Peoples?"

Lajoolie shook her head. "Not unless they caused our predicament in the first place. They aren’t obliged to help us, and if they do, they can charge whatever price they want."

"Hmph!" I said. "I do not think much of that policy."

"But the Cashlings love it," Aarhus answered. "They consider it a wonderful omen when a crusade scoops up slaves — it boosts the prophet’s prestige. Of course, if we’re really lucky, this particular prophet might be liberal enough to take a ransom instead: letting us hand over a bucket of cash instead of ten years’ hard labor."

He did not sound cheered by that prospect, but I thought it allowed us an excellent means of emancipation. "Then we shall hand over Royal Hemlock." I said. "It is quite large and splendid, even if it is broken. Parts of it even have carpet. The ship must be worth enough to pay all our ransoms."

"Probably," Aarhus agreed, "but we can’t use it for that. By Cashling laws of salvage, Hemlock already belongs to the crusade — the ship became theirs as soon they took it in tow. They’ll claim everything on board: even the clothes on our backs. If they accept a ransom at all, it’ll have to come from somewhere else." He gave me a sympathetic look. "Somehow I don’t think you have family at home with cash in their pockets." Turning to Lajoolie, he asked, "How about you?"

She bit her lip. "No one on my homeworld would pay a cent. As for my husband’s family…"

"I know," Aarhus said. "They’ve gone missing."

"What about you?" Lajoolie asked.

The sergeant shook his head. "My only family is the Outward Fleet; and at the moment, I don’t feel like turning to the Admiralty for help. Ten years of slavery is nothing compared to what the High Council intends for us — what they still might do if they hear we’re being held by the Cashlings. The council will swoop in, pay our ransoms, and take possession of us from the crusade… whereupon we’ll all disappear down some deep dark well."

"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.