He took another step back, and another crystal near where he had just been reflected an image of him walking past in the opposite direction.
Lamont walked slowly in his best approximation of a straight line; no easy task, because the interior of the vast space was laid out in organically curved sections connected by meandering pathways. There were a variety of exotically shaped structures, some nearly as high as the towering ceiling, that often blocked his view; but if he looked far enough to his left or right, he would sometimes see the copper-suited forms of Rosemary or Abigail as they searched their own quadrants. This would remind him to narrow his field of vision, searching the nooks and crannies of the strange features for any sign of Clifford Ashton. Every minute or two, the voice of one of the expedition members would come through the speaker in his suit, calling the missing engineer’s name.
Lamont’s path took him through a grove, for lack of a better term, of what looked like giant crystal columns. They had a fairly uniform diameter of about ten inches each, but varied in height from four to perhaps twelve feet. Their colors encompassed the entire spectrum and seemed to be slowly shifting as he walked past them. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed something strange: At first he took it for his reflection, since it was a slightly distorted image of himself on the surface of one of the crystals. But it walked past him just as he was stopping to get a better look. He took another step back, and another crystal near where he had just been reflected an image of him walking past in the opposite direction.
The newspaperman shook his head, forcing his eyes straight ahead to the star-speckled wall that was about a hundred feet ahead of him now. “Don’t get distracted,” He reminded himself.
“You okay, Monty?” Rosemary’s voice came through his speaker, sounding somewhat diffused as she still had her helmet off.
“I’m fine,” Lamont assured her without conviction.
A few minutes later, he reached the far wall of his quadrant, glancing behind his shoulder to look at the distant lift column in the center. He took a step and then, turning his head forward again, experienced a moment of vertigo. His field of view was now entirely occupied by the cloudy starscape of the space outside the tower. It was perfectly clear, as if he were somehow standing on a precipice at the edge of empty space. He could even see the streamlined shape of Westward hanging among the stars, seemingly the size of a toy, but exquisitely detailed. Looking down, he could see the toes of his boots apparently inches away from the abyss.
“Blimey,” He whispered. He reached his hand forward and was met with a hard, smooth surface that made no reflection.
“Do any of you remember seeing windows on the tower?” He asked into his radio.
“No,” Came Ed’s voice. “In fact, I’m sure that I didn’t. We could be seeing something like one-way glass, but it’s more likely a very sophisticated projection.”
“Very,” Lamont agreed. He was glad to hear that Ed had not disappeared after entering the lift. “I’m at the edge of my quadrant and haven’t seen a sign of Clifford.”
From Rosemary, Abigail and Rico came a flurry of disappointing echoes. They agreed to return to the center of the space. Lamont’s eyes, if it were possible, scrutinized every fantastic feature he passed with even more detail, but to no avail. Neither he, nor any other member of the party, had seen the smallest sign of Clifford when they reconnoitered at the lift column.
Ed, stepping from the lift, chewed his lip in thought.
“Should we try to get back to the landing bay?” Abigail asked.
The chief technician shook his head. “We should continue to the top of the tower. On the outside chance that for some reason Ashton decided to go ahead of us.”
“We’d have noticed if he went and used the elevator without us, wouldn’t we?” Abigail asked.
“Probably,” Ed conceded. “Anyhow, we’ll stop here again on the way back if we haven’t found him first.”
The others nodded in agreement and they all returned to the lift, unsurprised this time when, as they pressed their backs to the wall, the mirror-faced sphere descended from the ceiling to meet them. Lamont watched the ghostly projection of the tower come to life before them. He reflected silently on the enormity of the space around them, and the fantastic mystery of the tower that stretched above their heads and beneath their feet. Were they any less lost than Clifford, he wondered, in this vast unknown?
Next: A Matter of Time