"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.

On the positive side, Unfettered Destiny appeared to be constructed of glass all the way through, not just in the receiving bay. As we walked, I could glance behind my shoulder and see our ship drawing away from the Hemlock. We drifted silently into the blackness as another small ship from the crusade took our former position at Hemlock’s airlock. Lady Bell must have sent instructions to her followers while she was at that control console back in the receiving bay; now the disciples were hurrying to obey their prophet’s commands.

I could not help thinking, It must be excellent to be a prophet, if people do whatever you say. So I spent a brief time wondering how one became a prophet in the Cashling culture, and if there were any negative aspects to a prophet’s calling. Having a flotilla of docile adherents was all very well, but prophethood would not be so fine if one was required to practice overzealous chastity or to cut out one’s heart in a ritual manner at the coming of winter. On the other hand, if one simply declared, "I am prophet," and people bent themselves obsequiously to fulfill your slightest whim…

That would not be a bad profession for a woman trying to make her way in an unfamiliar world. It would not be a bad job at all.

21: WHEREIN I MAKE A VAIN ATTEMPT TO BECOME A RECORDING STAR

Reaching The Studio

"Oar? Oar? Oar!"

Someone was tugging on my arm — Festina, gripping me tightly in Unfettered Destiny’s corridor.

"What is wrong?" I asked.

"We’re here. At the studio. You walked straight past it." She stared at me keenly. "Are you all right?"

"I am fine, Festina. I was simply lost in thought."

"Really." She did not let go of my arm. "You’re sure you’re okay? Sergeant Aarhus told me you passed out in Nimbus’s room… and I noticed you acting strangely in Hemlock’s transport bay."

"There is nothing wrong with me," I said, detaching myself from her grasp. "If you think my brain has become faulty, you are quite mistaken." The look of concern on her face did not lessen. "Truly," I told her, "I am perfectly well… though I have not eaten in four years, and therefore would benefit from the intake of appropriate nourishment."

"We’ll get you some food, don’t worry," Festina said. "Come into the studio and sit down; I’ll ask Lady Bell… no, I’ll ask Lord Rye to bring you something from the galley."

She attempted to take me by the arm and guide me through a nearby door. I did not wish to be guided — I was not some frail muddle-head whose brain might go blank at any moment, I had simply been distracted by the notion of becoming a prophet. There is nothing sinister about a momentary preoccupation; it was most annoying for Festina to Show Undue Concern. Therefore, I shrugged off her efforts to baby me, and surged boldly through the door myself.

I had never visited a broadcast studio before, but I expected such a place to contain ostentatious banks of Technology. Instead, the room was just a large empty space with jet-black carpet on the floor. The walls were glass, but with a fuzzy feathered texture; this had the effect of suppressing echoes, for the room was extremely quiet, as if some Uncanny Force were muting every sound we made. The very air seemed to press against my eardrums, stifling noises before they reached me: a most eerie and disturbing effect. Compared to the clutter in the rest of the ship, an area with no knickknacks or dead animals should have cheered my heart… but the atmosphere made me most edgy, as if I were cut off from important auditory input that might warn me of danger. Lady Bell, on the other hand, was clearly glad to reach the place after fretting through so much delay. No sooner had she entered than she threw herself down on the carpet… and the woolly black surface reshaped itself beneath her, the floor acquiring bumps and hollows molded perfectly to the lady’s body. I had to admit she looked striking, the frost green of her skin almost fluorescent against the heavy black background. This might have been why the floor was so dark; she would not have stood out as well against the ship’s clear glass.

"Sit down, sit down," she said with expansive cheer, gesturing to the floor beside her. "Make yourself comfortable. Can my darling husband get you anything? Accelerants? Placations? Our synthesizers have complete pharmaceutical indices for Earthlings and Divians; it’ll only take a second to whip up your favorite stimulant."

"How about food?" Festina said, making no effort to seat herself. "Something humans can digest." She glanced in my direction. "Preferably transparent."

I lowered my head, trying not to show shame. It is mortifying when your Faithful Sidekick believes you are crazed with hunger and she makes a scene to ensure you are properly fed. I knew I could not the from starvation, but I was not so certain about embarrassment.

Fortunately, Lady Bell was not such a one as could feel urgency about someone else’s problem. She therefore did not make a fuss: Oh yes, we must quickly bring sustenance for the poor dear and make her lie down in the meantime. She merely told Rye, "See to that, darling!" and puckered several of her cranial orifices at him. He muttered something in the universal language of unappreciated persons and slunk out of the studio.

"Now everyone just sit down!" Lady Bell said brightly. "I don’t want you pacing during the show. Pacing will upset the audience — not to mention that the lights and cameras will have a hard time following you. Shadows on one’s face can completely ruin credibility. Sit down, sit down!"

"Where are the cameras?" I asked, looking around the blank room.

"Built into the walls, dear."

"But the walls are clear glass. They do not contain cameras."

"You’re clear glass, and you contain all kinds of things: lungs, kidneys, a heart… pity you only have one of those, but let’s pray it holds out till the recording is over. And your heart will last ten times longer if you just sit down."

Grudgingly, I lowered myself to the floor. I do not enjoy anyone offering advice about my health; and I knew I would not enjoy the floor either. Sure enough, the moment my bottom touched the carpet, it began to squirm beneath me. (The carpet, I mean, not my bottom.) A sizable gully sank down to accommodate my feet, while a woolly black hump rose to support my back. I grant that the seat was comfortable — like reclining on a mound of dead sheep whose bones have been softened with hammers. The problem was I did not wish to be comfortable. I did not wish to be soothed because…