The captain pointed a stern finger down at him. “I didn’t start this,” He said. “This wasn’t my idea. And it wasn’t his either. We’re just trying to make sure it doesn’t all go horribly wrong.”
“That sounds like it could be a problem,” Lamont confessed.
Francis dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “Forget it. I’m merely tired.”
“So you never wonder if Phobos might have some other agenda? Something that prevents him from being entirely up-front with you?” Lamont pressed him.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Francis insisted. “He lives to help us.”
“That’s a bit hyperbolic,” The newspaperman grunted.
“No,” Carter said, leaning forward on the desk. “It’s literal. Eons ago, Mars sent her children into space to explore, to bring back knowledge. These Martians were specially designed for the purpose, not like other Martians. They had one job to do, and they had been specifically designed to do it. Phobos is like that. That’s why he shared the secret of escherspace even though he doesn’t agree with our application of it. In a way, he didn’t have a choice. He’s been designed to help us.”
Lamont stared at the older man, cigarette butt hanging loosely from his lips as he processed what the captain was saying. “Why?” He finally blurted.
“Why what?” Francis asked in a distracted tone.
“Why would Mars do such a thing? Why would it care?”
The captain shrugged. “I have theories.”
Lamont ran a hand over his face. He was sure he could feel the blood draining out of it. “I would submit,” He said carefully, “that if all you have is theories, you don’t really know. You don’t really know if helping us is what he was designed to do.”
Carter looked at him defiantly. “He has so far, hasn’t he?”
Lamont didn’t answer. He simply met the captain’s gaze and stabbed the cigarette out in the tray before him.
Francis scowled and stood again, this time taking the cane from where it had been resting against the desk. “I’m not at my best,” He admitted. “A few hour’s sleep should do it.”
“There’s a lot at stake here,” Lamont said quietly. “It’s not just your neck you’re risking these days.”
The captain pointed a stern finger down at him. “I didn’t start this,” He said. “This wasn’t my idea. And it wasn’t his either.” Lamont presumed that he was referring to Phobos. “We’re just trying to make sure it doesn’t all go horribly wrong.”
“Why?” Lamont asked. He heard a slight tremor in his voice now. “How wrong could it go, exactly?”
Francis shook his head. Silently, he turned and walked out the door, leaning heavily on his cane.
"What's the worst that can happen?" *Carter's tired stare intensifies*