“It will be exciting to find out. If, of course, the radiation does not simply turn us into inside-out cannibal mutants first. May I carry your bag, Señorita Wells?”
“Oy, Monty—you’d best put that out before you get in the lift.”
Lamont lifted his eyes from his portable recorder, with which he had been fiddling, to see Rosemary Wells gesturing toward the half-smoked cigarette that dangled from the center of his lips.
“Why do you think I’m standing out in the hall in these pyjamas?” The newspaperman retorted. He felt rather self-conscious in the silver full-body suit that he wore in common with the rest of the expedition team. He had to admit to himself that the red-headed young medic looked quite striking in hers, though.
She reached a hand out toward his face. Perceiving her meaning, he plucked the cigarette from his mouth and handed it to her. She took a deep drag, blew out the smoke slowly, and handed it back. “Enjoy it while you can, I suppose. There’ll be no lighting up on the surface either.”
“What?” Lamont asked. “Why not?”
“Too much ozone,” The medic replied, lifting her eyebrows as if surprised that he would need to ask. “It’d go up like a Roman candle.”
“Blast,” muttered Lamont, furrowing his brow.
“That was quite a speech last night,” Rosemary said conversationally, shifting the weight of the black medical bag that was strapped over her shoulder.
“That’s one way of putting it,” Lamont agreed. “Carter could learn a thing or two about reading a room.”
“I thought it was inspiring,” Rosemary rebutted. “It’s not his fault if people are too stuffy about tradition to see what he’s trying to do.”
“What is he trying to do, do you think?” Lamont asked.
“He’s trying to say that from where we stand, it makes more sense to look forward than backward. And as it happens, I agree. Are we meant to keep reading the names of people who passed another half-century hence, when anyone who could have known them is long since gone? When the planet they lived on is just another star in the sky?”
For some reason he couldn’t quite identify, the thought made Lamont feel tangibly cold, so that a shiver ran through him. “I suppose,” he offered, “That if it prevents us from repeating old mistakes…”
Rosemary waved her hand dismissively. “What mistakes? Nobody knows what caused the Epiphany event in the first place.”
“By this time tomorrow, maybe we will,” Lamont suggested, locating a trash receptacle in the corridor wall and lifting its plastic door.
“How do you mean?” Rosemary asked.
“The radiation. We don’t know yet whether it’s atomic, like from nuclear fallout, or exotic particles like the kind produced by the Epiphany event. If it’s the latter, we might learn something about what happened on Earth.”
Rosemary bit her lower lip in thought. Apparently, the idea had not occurred to her. “It’s most likely natural,” She finally said. “Most radiation is, and there’s no sign of civilization that we can see from orbit.”
“Maybe,” Lamont acknowledged. “Maybe Epiphany was a natural event too. I’m just saying that the case isn’t closed.” He flicked the cigarette into the trash receptacle, closed the lid and pressed a button beside it. With a pneumatic hiss, the stub was gone.
“It will be exciting to find out,” Said Rico Estavez. Despite his bulk, the silver-suited security specialist had approached close enough to listen in on their conversation without being noticed. “If, of course, the radiation does not simply turn us into inside-out cannibal mutants first. May I carry your bag, Señorita Wells?”
Next: The Space Lift