"That," Dylan said, "is a Myst reservoir."
The words remained in the illuminated chamber for a moment, and then Dylan moved.
All the earlier sleepiness vanished from him so completely that it might never have existed. He stepped closer to the central vessel with bright, almost offended enthusiasm, stopping just short of the boundary where the floor channels thickened around its base. His eyes traveled over the reservoir in quick, hungry movements: the crystal housing set behind layers of thick transparent casing, the stabilizing bands wrapped around the vessel, the conduits climbing upward into the ceiling, the carved distribution lines spread through the floor, and the old metal-like braces keeping the entire structure locked in place.
He crouched, shifted sideways, stood again, and circled the reservoir with enough restraint not to touch it but not enough restraint to stop looking like he desperately wanted to.
