“The rest of the crew hasn’t been through what I—what we—have been through with him,” Rosemary explained. “Doesn’t that count for something?”
Emerging from his quarters, Lamont saw Rosemary Wells turning out of the hallway to his right. This was not the hall that followed the starboard curve of the ship and led toward the crew quarters, but rather the shorter corridor that went across the ship, from starboard to port, and led to the medical bay and various offices. She was dressed down in uniform; a dark gray short sleeve shirt, black belted trousers and white boots.
“You’re working rather late,” Lamont remarked, checking his wristwatch. It was just past 2:00 in the morning.
“I’m headed to the command deck,” Rosemary explained. “Francis mentioned that he’d be there around this time himself. I’m sorry you couldn’t sleep, mate.”
“I did sleep,” Lamont protested.
“In that case, I’m just sorry,” Rosemary quipped, casting a not unsympathetic eye his way as she breezed toward the lift.
“You did it again,” Lamont pointed out, rubbing a palm against the rough stubble on his cheek as he hopped into step with her.
“What’s that?” She asked uncuriously.
“You called the captain by his first name.”
“Are you still chewing that gristle?” Rosemary rolled her eyes. “It’s not my duty shift, and we ain’t in the militia.”
Turning to the left, they arrived at the lift. Lamont pushed the bottommost button and stepped aside so that the medic could enter first.
“It’s noticeable, that’s all,” Lamont shrugged as the doors slid closed behind him. “Most of the crew address him more formally, regardless of the time of day. He isn’t exactly…” He paused to think of an appropriate phrase. “...Sociable with the regular crew.”
“The rest of the crew hasn’t been through what I—what we—have been through with him,” Rosemary explained. “Doesn’t that count for something?”
Lamont felt his lips tighten. He remembered the evening after they returned to the ship from the planet they now called Epiphany Rex. He and Francis had shared a moment of reflection over glasses of absinthe. But at the time, Lamont was simultaneously preoccupied with his astonishing discovery of the incongruous artifact he had smuggled from the planet and processing his decision to keep it a secret. In the days after that, he had become self-absorbed, avoiding the command deck and, by extension, the captain who frequented it.
He noticed that Rosemary was looking up at his eyes probingly.
“You’re furious at him, aren’t you?” She asked softly.
Lamont blinked as the doors slid open again behind him with an electronic ping. He stepped mechanically aside to let Rosemary pass into the control deck hallway.
“I don’t—I didn’t think so,” Lamont stammered without conviction.
“You can’t let something like that fester,” She advised. “It ain’t that big a ship.”
Lamont fished two loose cigarettes from his shirt pocket and offered one to the medic, who declined with a shake of her head. They walked together in silence; Lamont had time to light his cigarette and take a long pull from it before they reached the command deck doors in the center of the ship. The doors noted the arrival of the pair with their electronic eye and slid open for them with a pneumatic hiss.
The command deck was bathed in deep blue light. The two entered to find a small group gathered in front of the central console, standing close to the observation window to take in the spectacle outside.
Lamont felt Rosemary’s hand nudge his arm.
“Monty,” she whispered, “I’ll take that cigarette after all.”
Next: Approaching Darkness