"Maybe he is not bluffing. He is one of Malovel's priests."
"I don't get this Malovel but what I said still goes, for Fiddlefoot here and his boss, too."
Sanderson gestured through a window to a terraced slope. Beyond it, mountains rose into the sky. Along the terraces, following the viaducts that brought water downward from the reservoirs above, Martian crops grew green and luxuriant. On the lowest level were the human fields, with the crops drying to stunted stems and twisted leaves. On top of this slope a square structure sprawled. Sanderson gestured toward it.
"Malovel is up there. He is the high priest, the ruler of the Martians here—and of the humans."
"I thought you bossed the humans," Early said.
"Malovel controls the water supply," Sanderson answered.
"Oh, I see!" Understanding gleamed in Early's eyes. "If you don't do what he says, he won't give you the water for irrigation. That's it, huh?"
Sanderson nodded.
"And you put up with this kind of treatment?" Surprise sounded in Early's voice. He studied Sanderson carefully as if he were re-evaluating him.