“You’d best be putting a cork in this hermit of the woods act,” Lamont said through clenched teeth as the elevator doors snapped shut. “I’m glad to see that you’re alive, mate, don’t get me wrong. But in case I didn’t make it clear, we’ve got an emergency on our hands.”
Ashton, who had taken his place in the elevator with familiar ease, smiled. “Everything is going to be alright,” he assured the newspaperman, repeating what he had said moments before. His eyes lifted to the dome of the ceiling, watching fixedly as the mirror-surfaced control sphere slowly descended toward them.
“What makes you so sure, mate?” Lamont asked.
“Let me show you,” Clifford replied, reaching toward the sphere.
Lamont slapped his hand away. “Not that I ain’t curious,” he said in response to Ashton’s mildly hurt expression, “but if we’re not back at the pod in a few minutes, they might leave without us.” The shimmering projection emerged as expected from the sphere, and Lamont quickly directed the elevator to the landing bay.
“You plan to return?” Clifford asked. “And bring others with you?”
Lamont nodded grimly. “That’s the plan, mate. Westward was badly damaged by something that passed by this tower, and there isn’t enough oxygen to go around while the crew affects repairs.”
“That’s good,” Clifford said.
Lamont regarded the mousy crew member with something close to open disdain. In the back of his mind, he recognized that he was conflicted. What should he be feeling? Relief at seeing Ashton alive and apparently unhurt? Curiosity about what he had experienced during his time alone in the tower? And yet Lamont was gripped by a profound unease that made his skin crawl. He felt oddly as if he were committing a crime.
“You’re an engineer, aren’t you?” The newspaperman asked as they watched the ruby-glowing indicator descend through the skeletal projection from the sphere. “They could probably use your help on the ship.”
“The function of Westward was to bring us here,” Clifford explained casually. “Soon, you’ll all be able to see that.”
Lamont grimaced. “You’ll pardon me for not feeling at all reassured. What the hell happened, mate? Where did you go when we lost you in the garden?”
“I didn’t go anywhere,” Clifford answered. “I was there the whole time. The purpose of the garden, as you call it, is to foster receptivity. I was found to be ready.”
“Ready for what?” Lamont asked.
“Communion.”
Lamont felt the elevator stop. He tugged himself away from the subtle magnetism of the wall and watched the sphere return to its place. The door snapped open to reveal Rico standing close by it, looking at his wristwatch.
The security specialist looked up, his large hand reflexively reaching for the holster at his hip despite an expression of relief on his face. “There you are,” he said, “I was about to—hijo de madre!”