Ascending - James Alan Gardner [141]
“But did the fountains have pipes? And water sources?”
“They had pipes, but they didn’t actually draw from the surrounding water table; the water came from big sealed reservoir drums buried under the ground.” Festina shrugged. “Using a self-contained water source might have been a religious thing—maybe the water in the fountain had to be specially blessed by priests, and Las Fuentes didn’t want their holy water mixing with unsanctified stuff from local rivers. For that matter, the reservoir drums and the fountains may not have contained normal H2O. The fountains could have held a sacred drug used in worship ceremonies…or blood from animal sacrifices…or milk ritually obtained from a million mothers…and before you ask, no, we don’t know if Las Fuentes actually produced milk, I just made that up as an example.”
Example or not, it was something that caught my attention. I should very much like to see a fountain that sprayed milk or blood. Perhaps the fountain before us had an ON
switch. At the very least, it might contain crusty stains one could pick off with one’s fingernail and stare at with haughty disapproval. I moved toward the triangle of trees…then found myself jerked back again as Festina once more grabbed my jacket.
“No,” she said with quiet urgency, “it might be a trap. The door to this room opened as we approached, unlike every other door we’ve passed. That’s way too convenient.”
“Don’t be so grim, missy,” Uclod told her. “There’s nobody here, right? And if this fountain is a Shaddill shrine, maybe the door always opens automatically as a sign of welcome. ‘Come in, whoever you are, sit down and pray.’”
Festina did not look convinced…and it dawned on me she might be correct in saying the door did not open by accident. The Pollisand’s eyes had led us here; perhaps the Pollisand himself had arranged for the door to open because there was something we ought to discover. “I do not think there is danger,” I told Festina. “If this is a holy place, surely it is the last location the Shaddill would set a trap. An attack on us might damage the fountain.”
“Unless,” said Aarhus, “they’re the sort who think shrines look holier when splashed with the blood of enemies.”
“Oh, you’re a barrel of laughs,” Uclod muttered.
Yet Another Thing That Might Be Wrong With My Brain
“If I can make a suggestion…” Nimbus said.
We all turned toward the cloud man. In the dim light, he had been so nearly invisible it was easy to forget he was there. “If you think it’s important, I could send some of my components over to the fountain. It’s unlikely the ship would notice a few stray cells drifting through the air…and I could do a quick chemical analysis on any residue in the basin.”
“That is excellent,” I said. “It could provide us with important information.”
“Why?” Festina asked. “Why do we care what the Shad-dill put in their fountains? Why should it matter if the stuff is water, blood, or fucking sangria?” She stared at me most piercingly. “You’ve got some idea in your head, Oar; I can tell. That’s scary enough on its own, considering what your ideas can be like. But with you being a Shaddill creation, I also worry the bastards might be influencing you somehow. Beaming notions straight into your cerebral cortex. They could have built your brain with receptors that would let them control you when it became necessary.”
“That is very foolish!” I answered hotly. “I am not being controlled by anyone!” But…was I sure the Pollisand eyes I had seen were actually attached to the Pollisand? He had left no footprints; no one else had seen the dim crimson glows. If the Shaddill had constructed my brain in such a fashion as to delude me with False Sensory Input…
Oh, it was very most irksome being a creature designed by evil aliens!
“All of you, step back,” I told the others with great anger. “Go far away, out of the room…because if I have been deceitfully led here by villainous poop-heads, I intend to find out once and for all. I am going to walk straight up to