“A memorial?” Captain Carter prompted.
Phobos turned back toward him. “Only a speculation, of course. Based on the available data. We know that the star of this system is in the later stages of its life cycle; that it expanded outward many millions of years ago, jettisoned much of its mass, and has been contracting since. One could postulate the existence of a species with sufficient technical acumen to move outward into the system, avoiding the expansion. But if they did not possess a knowledge of escherspace…”
“They wouldn’t have been able to leave the system,” Lamont finished, peering into the inky bottom of his coffee cup.
The Martian nodded. “This planet may have been the final outpost of a race that had nowhere left to go.”
Captain Carter stroked his long chin. “So if we were to translate the messages that we’re receiving from the radio tower, we would hear…”
“Eulogies,” Phobos confirmed. “The last records of a lost civilization.”
“Extraordinary,” Francis breathed. “How confident are you of this?”
Phobos spread his hands once more. “Again, just a guess. But an educated one. I suspect that our exploration here will be archeological in nature.”
“What about the other planet?” Lamont asked. “The one we were headed toward before we got distracted by this one?”
He found to his discomfort that Phobos and the captain were both looking at him with rather blank expressions.
“If you turn out to be right, and this civilization died out long ago, what are the chances that any planets inside the system are still habitable?” Lamont clarified.
Francis shrugged, sitting back and unzipping the collar of his uniform jacket. “No more or less than they would be otherwise, I should think,” he concluded.
Phobos nodded in agreement. “In the timeline of the star system, the planet of interest may have been a ball of ice or an inferno of magma when this tower was constructed. The only thing our survey records tell us is that it should be in the star’s habitable zone now.”
“In that case,” Lamont observed, “the tower could be millions of years old.”
“You’ve been to Mars,” Francis reminded the newspaperman, suppressing a yawn. “Is that so surprising?”
“Try as I might,” Lamont admitted, “I can’t seem to get my head around these timescales.”
“Don’t be discouraged,” Phobos remarked, his tone genuinely sympathetic. “The human species has only just emerged from its primeval state. For someone of your perspective to be having experiences of this kind is not…” He paused, evidently searching for a word. “Is not typical,” he concluded.
Lamont frowned. He did not find that at all encouraging.
“As helpful as your insights have been,” Francis interjected, rubbing his neck, “They are, as you say, only guesses. The fact is we have no real idea what we are bound to encounter in the coming hours. I think we all should get some rest.”
Phobos nodded, rising to his feet like a marionette whose strings had been abruptly tugged.
“Phobos,” Carter said, craning his neck up at the Martian. “If anything comes to your attention that may be of value…”
“I’ll let you know, of course, Francis,” Phobos assured him.
The captain nodded, his wide lips tightening.
Next: The Martian Way