Ascending

24: WHEREIN I EXPLORE THE ENEMY’S LAIR

In The Tunnels

The entire stick-ship seemed filled with tunnels: some narrow with little head-room, some wide and reaching up into darkness. Darkness was indeed the most salient feature of these tunnels; there were occasional lights — dim orangey plates the size of my palm, set into the wall at waist level — but I counted a full twenty-two paces from one plate to the next, and considering the lights were scarcely as bright as a single candle, they did not provide substantive illumination. Their sole function must have been to prevent one from getting lost in total blackness.

Festina still had her glow-wand, but she used it sparingly: she only activated it when we came to an intersection. Since the floor was dirt, one could see which tunnels were more frequently used than others — the ones where the soil was tamped down more solidly, with the occasional discernible footprint. (The footprints were always from human boots, their tread identical to those worn by the robot admirals.) We always chose to follow the direction of greatest traffic, on the theory that this was most likely to lead us to Shaddill.[13]

[13] — At every intersection, we made clear deep gouges in the soil, pointing back the way we had come. Festina called this "our trail of bread crumbs"… which does not make me eager to eat Earthling bread.

Of course, the stick-ship did not merely consist of earth-lined tunnels — there were also multitudinous rooms opening off the tunnels. Many of these rooms did not have doors, just open entranceways… but the rooms were even darker than the tunnels, so peeking inside only showed bulks of anonymous machinery enclosed in metal shells. From time to time, we saw robots scurrying in the darkness, things that were no more than wheeled boxes with arms sprouting out of their tops. The robots took no notice of us; they were too busy with their programmed tasks to worry their mechanical brains about strangers.

As for the rooms with closed doors, we did not attempt to open them. I had no time to waste on side trips, since I did not know how much longer my brain would stay active. Besides, as Festina pointed out, doors are often closed to protect passers-by from dangerous things on the other side, whether those things were wild beasts, aggressive nano, or machines that produced incinerative quantities of heat. (Nimbus assured us he was keeping watch for high concentrations of nano; according to him, there were light sprinklings everywhere we went, but the nanites showed no more interest in us than the boxy robots.)

Minutes slipped by and still we did not see anything that might have been a living Shaddill. Of course, the stick-ship was huge; there might be millions of Shaddill in some other part of the craft, a residential section that was kept separate from the place where they imprisoned captives. But as time went on with no sightings, I wondered where the great poop-heads were. Was the entire stick-ship run by robots and nanites? Did the machines need no supervision at all? And if the ship could run itself, what about other Shaddill projects?

I knew the Shaddill had changed Melaquin from whatever it once was into a near-duplicate of Earth, with terrestrial weather and plants and animals… not to mention all the cities built underground and at the bottom of lakes. Was it possible such construction had been accomplished entirely by unsupervised machines? Perhaps so — aliens of advanced technical abilities might do everything with machines instead of physical labor. For all I knew, there might only be a handful of Shaddill left in the universe; they languidly gave a command, then years of work (including planning, design, and terraforming) were carried out by mechanical servants.

And if that were possible… why did there have to be living Shaddill at all? Suppose the old race, Las Fuentes, had created this stick-ship and programmed it to operate on its own. The living Fuentes then turned themselves to jelly, leaving the ship to work unattended.

It would be very most irksome if we reached the stickship’s control center, only to find it filled with more bulks of anonymous machinery: artificial intelligences running the whole show. One cannot punch a computer in the nose.

On the other hand, one can kick loose a computer’s metal housing and rip out its wires, dancing upon its circuit boards and smashing anything that says FRAGILE, DO NOT STOMP. Even better, the Leagueof Peoples would not consider me a bad person for doing so — if the League dealt with computers on a regular basis, they probably felt the urge to dance on circuit boards themselves. Perhaps they would appear before me in a pillar of fire and say, "Oar, most good and faithful servant, you have done exactly what we would have done ourselves, if only we had feet." It would turn out the League people were giant space butterflies; they would give me a medal for heroic achievement, then seat me upon their backs and we would ride off for Glorious Adventures on the far side of the galaxy.

That is what was going through my head when I saw the Pollisand.

In Good Paintings, The Eyes Follow You; In Stick-Ships, You Follow The Eyes

We had come to a junction and Festina was examining the dirt on the floor, trying to determine which way was used more often. Both left and right were quite trampled, indicating we had finally reached a major thoroughfare. While the others busied themselves debating which direction looked better, I kept watch for hostile elements… which is how I caught sight of familiar red eyes glowing in the darkness to my right.

The Pollisand was so far off in the shadows, I could not make out his body; but his eyes were unmistakable. They glowed for the briefest of moments, just long enough for me to recognize them. Then they winked out as if they had never been there.

"This way," I said, pointing in the direction of the eyes. "That is the proper route."

Festina looked up as if waiting for an explanation. I did not think she would be happy to learn I had seen the Pollisand again — Festina believed he was a Creature Of ill Omen, and perhaps she would insist on going exactly the opposite way. Therefore, I said nothing. Eventually, she shrugged and muttered, "Why not? Right looks as good as left."

So we moved in the direction I had seen the glowing eyes. I kept close watch on the ground as we walked, hoping to observe deep footprints from a rhino-like beast… but I saw nothing except packed-down soil. Perhaps all I had seen was an illusion inserted into my brain. Still, we pressed along the tunnel until we came to another intersection; and once again, I caught a fleeting glimpse of eyes down one of the passages.

"This way now," I said pointing.

Of course, it was not so easy as that — Festina wished to examine the ground, and we had to pause as Aarhus made grooves to mark our way back. In the end, however, Festina agreed the direction I indicated was as good a choice as any, and we proceeded accordingly.

Several minutes passed in that manner. None of the others noticed the glowing eyes: they were only visible to me. Nevertheless, at each junction, the Pollisand marked a reasonable way forward, so the others were willing to follow my lead.

Once or twice, Festina peered at me with suspicion — she obviously wondered why I had started to make snap judgments at each cross-tunnel. By now, however, she must have become accustomed to me behaving in a manner too deep for humans to understand; and as my Faithful Sidekick, she chose not to question my will. She simply made sure the sergeant continued to mark our way back, and little by little she took less time to examine the ground before declaring, "Let us do as Oar says."

Therefore, we made swifter progress, though we were now in a part of the ship where the ground was exceedingly well trodden. In spots, the dirt had worn away entirely, revealing solid flooring beneath. Festina said all these floors were made from steel-plast, a material found in human starships as well — which made sense, considering the Shaddill had taught humans how to make starships in the first place. One wondered what other features the stick-ship possessed in common with a vessel like Royal Hemlock… and we soon discovered such a feature, as a door we were approaching swished open automatically at our approach.

Doors had opened for us in this fashion several times on the Hemlock; however, this was the first such occurrence on the stick-ship, and Festina halted our march immediately. More precisely, since I was walking in front, she grabbed me by the collar of my jacket and yanked me back sharply.

I turned with a reproachful look and was about to tell her she should not handle me with such brusqueness… but she threw her hand over my mouth before I could speak a word. Apparently, she did not want any lurking Shaddill to hear us talking. When she was certain our companions would also keep quiet, she motioned us to stay where we were, then crept forward stealthily toward the open door.

She stood just outside the door for a tediously long time, holding her breath and listening for any sort of noise from the inner room. The rest of us listened too — Uclod and Lajoolie rolled back the coverings of their sphere-like ears, exposing raw eardrums to the world. Perhaps this made their hearing even keener than mine; at any rate, Festina must have believed they had the best ears among us, for she turned to them and mouthed the word, "Anything?" Both Divians shook their heads. Festina shrugged, clenched her stun-pistol in both hands, and hurled herself forward into the room.

Nothing happened. No shots, no shouts, no scuffles. After some tense moments, Festina reappeared in the doorway and waved us forward.

The Milk Of A Million Mothers

By normal standards, the light in the room was dim: just-after-sundown twilight like the hangar where we first landed. After the darkness of the tunnels, however, the soft dusky glow seemed pleasantly welcoming.

It was bright enough to show that the room was empty… which is to say, there were no robots or Shaddill or bulky machines. Instead, three mini-chili trees grew in a widely spaced triangle, their trunks arrow-straight and their branches heavy with yellow fruit. Nothing else sprouted from the surrounding soil — no bushes or undergrowth, not a single blade of grass — but in the center of the triangle formed by the trees stood a fountain carved from gray stone.

We had all seen such a fountain before — in the pictures Festina showed of her world, Agua. This was unmistakably a creation of Las Fuentes.

The fountain was simple: a low bowl-shaped basin ten paces across with a knee-high wall surrounding it, and a single unadorned pillar rising from the center. The pillar stood a little higher than my head; it had three spouts just down from its top, each oriented toward one of the mini-chili trees. At the moment, however, the spouts were not spouting. Indeed, the entire fountain was bone-dry, as if it had not operated in ages. It sat in stony silence — a silence that was somehow more intense because it ought to have been broken by the cheerful gushing of water.

"Okay," Uclod said softly, "this clinches it. The Shaddill are Las Fuentes."

It seemed appropriate to talk in near-whispers. We had stopped just inside the door, none of us ready to venture farther. "Admiral," Aarhus murmured, "those fountains on Las Fuentes planets — did any of them work?"

Festina shook her head. "By the time humans arrived, they’d been sitting idle for thousands of years — gummed up with dirt and mold. A lot were completely buried under normal soil accumulation; they were only found because they sat in the middle of those huge craters and archaeologists knew where to dig."

"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 Shaddill 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 that fountain, and then I shall do something drastic. If I see a large button labeled DO NOT PRESS, I shall press it. If I see a big X scratched into the floor, I shall step on it with all my weight. If the trees come alive and attempt to stuff poisonous mini-chilis down my throat, I shall beat them to death with their own branches. The one thing I shall not do is dally in forlorn uncertainty, wondering if I am another creature’s dupe. If something is going to happen, I shall make it happen now."

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 that a good thing — the fountain’s dribbly babble was pleasant to listen to, but I was not yet ready to allow the red fluid to touch my skin. For all I knew, it might be a powerful Chemical that would burn my flesh or render me unconscious at the slightest contact.

Instead, I moved to the nearest mini-chili tree and plucked a low-lying fruit from its branches. Taking great care not to squeeze the little chili, I went back to the fountain and tossed the small fruit into the basin, very near the pool that was filling out from the center. The fruit landed neatly with its pointy end aiming inward toward the middle of the bowl. Bit by bit as liquid continued to flow, the level of the fluid rose and its edge inched up the stone toward the chili’s tip.

"What’s happening in there?" Festina called.

"I am performing an experiment. I am exposing an organic object to the influence of a sinister alien liquid."

"The organic object wouldn’t be your hand, would it, missy?"

That, of course, was Uclod. "No," I told him, "I am not such a fool as to use myself for an experimental subject."

"Oh yeah? Then why are you in there, when we’re all out here?"

One had to admit he had a point. But one did not have to admit it out loud, and anyway, the edge of the liquid was almost touching the chili’s bottom tip. I held my breath in anticipation, hoping perhaps the small yellow fruit would burst into flame when the liquid made contact; but the result was more interesting than there fire. As the fluid nudged the chili’s surface, the fruit’s yellow skin slowly changed color — not to red, as you might think, but to a dark purple. Even more intriguing, the chili’s waxy texture grew puffy, bulging and bloating with purplish glee… until the sharp tip of the chili had turned to an ill-defined blob of purple jelly.

I stepped back several paces from the fountain. Several long paces. Taking care not to let my voice quaver, I called to the others, "Um. You will be pleased to learn my experiment has had a Result. Perhaps it would be useful if some independent observer were to witness this Result, so I may believe my own eyes."

Festina was inside the room even before I stopped speaking. She came quickly forward, close enough to the fountain that she could see the chili lying half-in, half-out of the clear crimson liquid. The top of the fruit was still recognizable as a chili; the bottom was equally recognizable as a dollop of purple gloop.

"Holy shit," Festina whispered.

"The holiest," I agreed.

Gray Foam, Purple Goo

I quickly explained what had happened. All the while, the liquid continued to rise in the basin, turning more and more of the chili into quivering gel. When I finished my tale, I asked Festina, "So… is the chili changing into a Fuentes? And if it is, is it now intelligent and lying there listening to us?"

Festina gave a little laugh. "I doubt that a fruit can become sentient just from getting dowsed with liquid. More likely, the fluid is breaking down the chili’s cell structure — like the Modig powder back on Hemlock. With Modig, biologicals always decay into gray foam, whether you start with data circuits or human fingers. With whatever’s in that fountain… I suppose it rips the shit out of something in living cells, and the result is purplish guck."

"If the Fuentes are also purplish guck, they must have used this fluid to rip up their own cells. Why would they do that?"

"Presumably it was the only way to reach the next level of evolution. Maybe you can’t transcend the limitations of physical form unless you break down your body structure. That could be the only way to free your consciousness." Festina shook her head. "Or I could be full of crap. It’s not like I understand this any better than you do."

She turned her gaze to the mutating chili. The little fruit was almost entirely covered with fluid by now… which meant it was almost entirely converted to goo. Festina stared at it a moment, then shivered.

I was feeling the shivers myself. "Perhaps I am just an uncivilized one, but I would not wish to turn into jelly. Not even if I became a million times smarter."

"I’m with you on that," Festina replied. "But hey, I’m just a dumb old human. Maybe when you’re truly ready to jump up the evolutionary ladder, turning into glup seems perfectly sensible. Easiest thing in the world: wake up in the morning, eat breakfast, say, ‘Shucks, it’s time I evolved,’ and splash, you go for a dip in the nearest fountain."

"No," said a whispery voice. "It is not an easy thing. It is the hardest thing in the universe."

A blindingly brilliant light stabbed down from the room’s ceiling, and suddenly two furry creatures stood shoulder-to-shoulder before us.