Therefore, Uclod and Lajoolie had a family to which they could return: a family who eagerly awaited the couple in order to congratulate them on a job well done. Apparently, Uclod’s relatives were vociferously telling everyone how wise they had been to purchase Lajoolie as Uclod’s wife — Lajoolie had "made the boy a man," had "helped him fly right," and had achieved many other goals expressed in hackneyed phrases. The Unorrs swore they would recommend the same Tye-Tye marriage broker to all of their friends… which was not a pleasant prospect to contemplate, but at least it ensured that the broker would not wreak vicious acts upon Lajoolie’s brother.
It turned out that one of the vessels in the outreach crusade was a female Zarett with a male Zarett on board. Using monetary credit from his family, Uclod purchased the couple and put baby Starbiter into loving Zarett care… where I imagine she was tucked into a soft spherical crib each night and spoiled with hydrocarbons of excessive sweetness. Uclod also promised to erect a monument to Nimbus in the Unorr family cemetery on the Freep homeworld. Starbiter (the mother, not the daughter) will receive an even larger memorial in the same place — perhaps a life-size model with a special fungal coating to mimic a Zarett’s gooeyness. I think that sounds most icky indeed; therefore, I have resolved to visit it immediately if ever I find myself on that planet.
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."