Ascending - James Alan Gardner [142]
The others all turned to Festina to see her response to my words. “Well,” she said slowly, “there is some benefit in knowing where we stand…and maybe provoking a confrontation is better than wandering forever with no idea where the Shaddill are hiding.”
“Sounds good,” Uclod agreed. “No offense, missy,” he said to me, “but if the bad guys have some hold over you, it’s better you do walk into a trap. I mean, the trap couldn’t be lethal, right? The League won’t let the Shaddill kill any of us. And if they’re playing games inside your head, they’ll bloody soon use you against us unless you’re taken out of the equation.”
“That is the sort of logic one expects from a heartless criminal,” I told him, “but it is logic all the same. Now depart to a safe distance…and we shall see if I can cause dramatic events.”
Festina scowled a moment; then, slowly, she nodded. “All right. I don’t like it, but the Shaddill really can’t kill you, not out here in space. And maybe if you cause enough ruckus, one of the bastards will show up personally. That’s what we really want: someone we can talk to. The only way we’ll get out of this mess is peaceful negotiation…preferably while we hold a pistol to somebody’s head.”
She turned and left the room. The others followed—with Lajoolie giving me a plaintive look before she disappeared. “I will be all right,” I called to her. “I am practically unbreakable. And quick. And clever. And…”
But by then I was alone; and suddenly I felt less confident about my plan. It is one thing to speak bravely in front of others. It is quite a different thing to stand in solitude, staring at a room filled with dirt and wondering if this is the last sight you will ever see.
Tentatively, I took a step forward. No awful disaster happened.
Taking a deep breath, I counted to five. Then I strode briskly forward, straight toward the fountain.
A Fruit In The Fountain
The moment I passed between two of the mini-chili trees, something gurgled beneath the floor. I leapt back quickly, but nothing attacked. Feeling my heart pound, I waited; and I kept my eyes moving, frequently looking back over my shoulder to make sure nothing was creeping up on me from behind.
There was no motion anywhere in the room…until another rattling gurgle came from the fountain and a stream of reddish fluid gushed out the top. It squirted a short distance up into the air, then fell back down, splashing crimson spatters into the basin. A moment later, the three lower spouts also began pouring liquid—the same reddish stuff that was shooting from the top.
It was not blood…at least not the sort of blood I had seen ooze from human injuries. The fountain’s fluid was more viscous, like the thick liquid resin that maintenance machines on Melaquin employed to fill up ax gouges in the wall. Of course, the resin on Melaquin was pleasantly clear; the liquid in the fountain was transparent, but tinted the crimson of fall leaves. It also had a sweetish smell to it, not at all unpleasant: the scent reminded me of fresh-cut fruit, but which type of fruit, I could not say.
“What’s going on?” Festina called from outside the room.
“The fountain has started on its own. I did nothing to provoke it. The fluid it emits is red.”
A pool of the liquid began to accumulate in the basin. I approached, still watching for signs of trouble. Nothing moved anywhere in the room except for the fountain’s central squirt and the streams pouring through the three lower spouts. All the flows were lazy, without much pressure; there was no chance of me being hit by the tiniest splash. I considered