0396: Rubbish

Ziggurat #311

"Hey, are you alright?" Lamont asked.

Constance looked at him with a blank, wild expression, her pale lips moving soundlessly. She blinked, her gaze turning to the ivory statue in the center of the grove, and then returning to Lamont, who was gripping her arm gently.

"Monty?" She asked uncertainly. Her eyes flickered over his vacuum suit and expedition jacket.

"Yeah, love. Who else?"

Constance gave her head a shake as if to rouse herself from sleep. "You shouldn't interrupt the communion like that," she scolded him. "There's no telling what might happen."

"I'm sorry," Lamont replied. "I waited outside as long as I could, but the asteroid pod is only making a short supply run, and I was afraid we'd run out of time."

"What—what did you hear?" Constance asked, visibly startled. She stepped back and ran her hands over her orange coveralls as if to check for some telltale markings.

"Nothing," Lamont explained. "You were standing stock-still, just staring at the statue."

Constance looked visibly relieved to hear this. Still, something about her expression was deeply unsettled, her brow furrowed to form a deep crease above her lightly freckled nose. From her reaction, Lamont thought the better of asking what sort of an experience she had been having in communion. Instead, he checked his wristwatch.

"Look," he said, "I hate to rush you, but it's now or never. You asked me to tell you when I was ready to go ahead with my plan. If you're going to join me, we need to be in the landing bay in the next fifteen minutes."

"Yes, I'm going to join you," Constance agreed, glancing uneasily at the vaguely humanoid curves of the statue. "Don't tell me anything else until we're down there."

"Fair enough," Lamont said. "Only, do you have your vacuum suit?"

Constance nodded.

"You'll want to change into it," Lamont explained. "I'll be waiting at the lift for you."

They passed under the organic-looking arches of the grove. While they were inside, little Maggie Downs had apparently toddled over; she was crouched over the little streamlet of shimmering water that flowed through the grove, idly splashing her hands in it. When she saw Lamont, she stood and pointed a dripping, stubby finger toward his face.

"Rubbish," she proclaimed.

"You've read my work, then?" Lamont winced.

Constance rushed to the little girl, picking her up and squeezing her tightly. "Maggie, where are your folks? You shouldn't be off on your own."

Squirming from the smothering embrace, Maggie continued pointing toward Lamont. "Rubbish! Rubbish!"

Lamont suddenly realized what she wanted. He fished in his breast pocket, pulling out one of the cigarettes he had stashed there, and tossed it onto the soft ground at the edge of the grove. Breaking free from Constance, Maggie hurried over to watch with fascination as, over the course of about a minute, the discarded cigarette was covered in pale filaments and then absorbed by the garden floor as if it had never been there.