"But," he continued, "it never lasts. They can’t make it last. They’re damaged, Oar — even if they experience a flash of profundity, they can’t sustain it, they can’t use it, they can’t preserve the desire to change. I’ve watched them; they can’t become anything else, not even with other species to learn from. They simply lack the capacity. The Cashlings are lost, and other races are following them into the darkness. On their best days, they long to be truly alive… but they’re physically incapable of pushing themselves past the emptiness." He paused. "You can’t imagine their heartbreak when they realize they can’t make it work."

"I believe I can imagine it," I said. My eyes had gone misty… and the mist was not cloud.

20: WHEREIN I FEEL SORRY FOR FISH

Exclusive Rights

I still had my eyes shut, squeezing them tight to choke off tears, when the twittering Lady Bell clapped her hands with jubilation. "Then it’s settled!" she said in a gleeful voice. "Your lives for your story!"

My eyes snapped open. While I was conversing with Nimbus, Festina had apparently negotiated our freedom… which irked me no end since I had wished to be the one who persuaded the Cashlings to set us free. How else could I show the world I was not a worthless idle-head? I swiped the tears from my cheeks and stormed across the transport bay. "So," I demanded, "what is this sinister deal you have worked out behind my back?"

Festina blinked in surprise. "Nothing sinister, Oar. Lady Bell has agreed to transport everyone on Hemlock to Jalmut and let us go free once we get there… in exchange for which, she gets exclusive rights to our story."

"Exclusive rights!" Bell crooned. "The most wonderful phrase in your language!"

"Of course," Lord Rye said, "tomorrow, the rights will be mine. Because then it’s my turn to be prophet."

"Uh, yes, certainly," Bell replied. "It will be your turn." She whirled back to Festina. "No time to waste. We have to record your statement and broadcast it immediately. We have to record everybody’s statement." She moved to my side with a single step of her long-legged gait and took me by the arm in a manner oozing with unearned familiarity. "Your statement particularly, dear. You were the one who suffered most; and you’ll come across fabulously on camera. The moth-eaten jacket… the woebegone expression… the childish speech patterns… you’ll tug like mad on everyone’s heartstrings. Especially the prime demographic of men who like watching grown women behave like eight-year-olds. Boy, do those guys have disposable income!"

Festina seized my other arm before I showed Lady Bell what "disposable" really means.

No Such Thing As An Immediate Departure

"So," Uclod said to Bell, "you can do the broadcast right away?"

The lady whooshed gusts of air from several apertures in her skin. I believe this was a Disdainful Scoff. "We’re running a crusade," she told the little orange man. "We have an instant-play contract with four major news-wires and enough broadcasting wattage to saturate every star system from here to the globular clusters. When we preach a sermon, we preach a sermon."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Uclod asked. "Let’s go!" Alas, it was not so easy as that. Arrangements had to be made. While the prophets’ ship (called Unfettered Destiny) could hold those of us scheduled to give testimony, the rest of Hemlock’s crew had to be offloaded in ones and twos to other vessels in the flotilla. This would require significant coordination of effort, and neither Lady Bell nor Lord Rye wished to supervise the work: such "petty details" were beneath the dignity of important prophets. Moreover, Lady Bell insisted her broadcast witnesses could not possibly spare the time to help clear the navy ship. We had to start recording without delay; otherwise, she might decide to make us slaves after all.

This was merely an empty threat — anyone could see she did not care about slaves half so much as she cared about the broadcast. Bell literally jiggled with joy at the prospect of disseminating our testimony; she clearly expected to reap substantial benefits. No doubt she would become famous as the person who brought my poignant tale to the universe. Moreover, I suspected the broadcast was not going to be delivered free of charge — the audience would have to pay a fee in order to see my beauty. This meant Lady Bell would surely become rich, for everyone enjoys watching a person as lovely as I, especially when the person has a Sobering Tale To Tell.

The promise of forthcoming largesse explained why Bell grew upset with Festina. My Faithful Sidekick wished to remain on Royal Hemlock long enough to ensure there were no slip-ups in the evacuation… whereas Lady Bell desired to leave right away, and stamped her foot impatiently at waiting even a little bit. "If you must hang around here," she told Festina, "I’ll take the others and get started without you."

But that did not please Festina: she had the air of a person who believes everyone else will make an Awful Cock-Up of giving testimony, emphasizing the wrong details, skipping important evidence, and generally creating a flawed impression with the viewing public. She did not trust us to do things correctly unless she was there to supervise.

In the end, Lady Bell agreed to wait just long enough for Festina to find Captain Kapoor and put him in charge of the evacuation. This, as it turned out, was merely a ruse on the lady’s part — as soon as Festina left the transport bay, Bell attempted to persuade us to depart immediately.

"Can’t do it," Sergeant Aarhus said, "even if we wanted to. No spacesuits."

"Why do you need spacesuits?" Bell snapped.

"Don’t like breathing vacuum," Aarhus answered. "I hate the part where my eyes get freeze-dried. So while the admiral is gone, let’s just mosey on down to where the Explorers keep their suits."

"No, no, no," Bell interrupted, "you won’t need suits. Unfettered Destiny is docked directly outside. An airtight link." She waved her hand toward the exit hatch. "You can go over right now."

"So why are you and Rye wearing suits?" Uclod asked.

Lady Bell made another whooshing sound with multiple orifices. "We didn’t know how much air you’d have," she said. "You were floating derelict, no FTL field, no electrical readings… for all we knew, you might not have oxygen either."

"Exactly," Lord Rye agreed. "We didn’t know you’d fried your own ship; we thought maybe all your power systems had been disabled by that thing on your hull."

For a second, nobody spoke. Then we all howled in unison, "What thing on our hull?"

"I don’t know," Lord Rye said. "It looked like a big stick."

Questions Of Security

Lajoolie fairly threw herself against Uclod, as if the little man was the only creature in the universe who could protect her; she nearly bowled him over, but somehow he stayed on his feet. He put one arm around her hips and gave a comforting squeeze… but his eyes turned toward the exit airlock as if he desperately wished to run for it.

The rest of us were unencumbered by large timid women. We did run for the airlock — not because we were fleeing cowards, but because the foolish human ship had no means of looking at its own exterior. I wanted to see with my own eyes what this big stick looked like. Nimbus and Aarhus clearly felt the same.

"Where are you going?" Lady Bell asked as we passed her.

None of us answered. I reached the airlock first, with Nimbus gusting straight behind me, and Aarhus pounding through the hatchway a moment later. The sergeant grabbed the door as he passed; with a strong yank, he slammed it shut while the Cashlings still gaped at us from outside.