Veiled in deep shadow from his heavy brow, the Martian’s eyes met his gaze with an apparently impassive expression. “What sort of details do you mean, Francis?”
By the time Lamont turned his back to the refreshment dispenser, cup of coffee in hand, the command deck had all but emptied out. Sandra and Raj sat silently at their stations, keeping a close eye on their instrument panels. Ed and Amila had departed through the sliding doors, perhaps to rest, perhaps to return to their usual haunts on the control deck. Through the glass walls of Captain Carter’s office on the opposite side of the deck, Lamont could see that the captain was leafing through some papers that had been left on his desk while Phobos folded his long body into an awkward seat across from him. Lamont took a sip of his coffee and made his way across the deck to join them. The door of the office had been left ajar to permit the newspaperman entry, and he closed it quietly behind him, prompted by a gesture from the captain.
“It is not without consequence,” Francis was saying in an absent tone, shuffling through the papers one last time before setting them to the side. Apart from the papers and a built-in data retrieval unit, the surface of the chrome-lined desk was empty. The whole office was similarly sparse, decorated only with a few framed photos on the wall taken from various exotic locations in the Solar system, a small collection of mineral specimens on the shelf, and a somewhat neglected-looking potted plant.
“Certainly not,” Phobos agreed as Lamont took a seat beside him. The Martian’s long arms were bent at an extreme angle to allow his elbows to rest on the chair, his hands steepled at his chin.
“A few additional details might have made a difference on the last planet we visited. Perhaps all the difference.” The captain’s eyes were fixed on those of Phobos.
Veiled in deep shadow from his heavy brow, the Martian’s eyes met his gaze with an apparently impassive expression. “What sort of details do you mean, Francis?”
“If we had known, for example, that the planet was used as an outpost by Martians, we may have been able to make contact with the instruments they left behind—and the entities that made use of them—before visiting the surface. We could have had a much clearer picture of the real situation on the ground.”
“Would it have stopped you from setting anchor?” Phobos asked.
“Possibly,” Carter shrugged. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.”
“I suspect it wouldn’t have,” Phobos concluded. “But as you say, we’ll never know. The information was not available.”
“Not available?” Francis asked, “or nonexistent?”
Phobos spread his palms in a gesture of helplessness. “I’ve told you before: I was equally surprised at the presence of Martian technology. Mars explored for a time, but as far as I am aware, it didn’t colonize.”
“And you maintain,” Carter pressed, “that this structure we’re headed toward has no connection to your race?”
“None that I know of,” Phobos assured him. “And nothing that we’ve seen so far has a distinctly Martian technical signature.”
“So what is it?” Francis asked.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Phobos replied.
“Speculate,” Insisted the captain.
The Martian turned his hunched neck at an improbable angle to look over his shoulder at the fantastic scene outside the observation window. After a long moment’s consideration, he said: “A memorial.”
Next: Troubles with Time
I feel bad for Carter. He reaaaaally wants to believe that had things been slightly different he would have totally been like: "Well, I guess we don't actually have to make landfall before Epiphanies aniversary".