Lazarus, watching Lamont’s familiar ritual from the center of the deck, lifted his own cup in a wry toast. “To the hydroponics bay,” he intoned. “May she rest in peace.”
Four pairs of eyes met Lamont’s briefly as the doors of the command deck slid open for him. They didn’t open all the way. Lamont waited for a moment, and then opted to turn sideways and slip through them, feeling relieved when they didn’t suddenly slam shut on him.
“We’re still working on that,” Ed Spratt grunted from where he stood at the situation table, leaning over a pile of diagrams. Captain Carter stood opposite him, leaning on the brass pommel of his cane. Beyond Ed, Abigail Bishop was seated at her station of the command console. She smiled in greeting and then turned back to the knobs and buttons of her control panel. Lazarus Long was at his station as well, but he wasn’t seated; his lanky frame was leaning casually against his stool, coffee cup in hand.
“You look like you got a good night’s sleep,” Lazarus observed.
“I did,” Lamont agreed. “Thank God.”
He wandered over to the refreshment dispenser on the starboard end of the deck. To his left, Santana’s office was unoccupied and unlit, the Mesoamerican decorations grimacing in the shadows. To his right, the panoramic transparent wall showed the underside of Westward, still partially immersed in a snowy crystalline cloud. His mind flashed back briefly to part of his dream the previous night, and he looked away from the window, trying to shake a sudden feeling of dread. It turned out to be an omen, however, when the acrid scent of instant coffee drifted to his nostrils from the black liquid that he dispensed into a cup.
Lazarus, watching Lamont’s familiar ritual from the center of the deck, lifted his own cup in a wry toast. “To the hydroponics bay,” he intoned. “May she rest in peace.”
Lamont glanced again at the white cloud that enveloped the front of the ship. “Bloody intolerable,” he muttered.
“It’s good that you got some rest,” Captain Carter said as the newspaperman approached the central console again. “I expect it will be another long day.”
Lamont grimaced as he sipped his lukewarm drink. “What’ve you got for me?”
“Communication is still an issue until we find some way to cut through the radio noise,” the captain reminded him. “I’d like you to continue to be our go-between in the meantime. I need to be kept apprised of how the colonists and crew we have over there are doing. That means at least one round trip a day for you, for the foreseeable future.”
“Suits me,” Lamont agreed, adjusting the strap of his ubiquitous recorder, which was slung diagonally over his suspenders. “I’d be glad of a chance to do some more snooping down there. Who knows? I might even find a decent cup of coffee.”