“I was looking for a headache and a sore knee,” Lamont explained, “But since that’s all sorted out now, do you have a moment to talk?”
Lamont cursed loudly. “Have you been here the whole time?” He demanded. He knew as he was saying it that he was more angry at himself, at being overwhelmed by his fear, then he was at the Martian that stood looking at him from the shadows of the ceiling.
“That would depend on what you mean by ‘here,’” Phobos observed mildly, lowering his hand so that it hung loosely by his lanky side like the other. “And ‘time.’”
“Bloody typical,” Lamont complained.
Phobos’ thin lips curled in a small smile. “You were looking for me?”
“No, I was looking for a headache and a sore knee,” Lamont explained, “But since that’s all sorted out now, do you have a moment to talk?”
“Several, if you don’t mind following me while I work,” Phobos said.
“All the better,” Lamont agreed. “I’m liable to fall asleep if I get too comfortable.”
Phobos stepped sideways, outside the path that constituted something like a rough corridor and into a tangle of pipes. Lamont followed him hastily, afraid of losing sight of him in the technological confusion. The Martian took a few strides, turned right, took a few more, and turned right again. Lamont’s intuition told him that they should now be facing in the direction of the corridor, but he couldn’t see it from where they stood. Instead, he was looking at something that looked like an angular metal monolith from which protruded dozens, perhaps hundreds of objects like incandescent light bulbs. Most of them were dark, their glassy surfaces a purplish color in the gloom. Every few seconds, one or more of them would illuminate, flashing on and off again with no discernable pattern. From the bolted base of the mechanism, a thick conduit snaked into the shadows. Beside it was a simple metal three-legged stool, and it was on this that Phobos settled, grasshopper-like, and commenced to watch the bulbs intently.
Lamont hovered nearby, feeling distinctly out of place.
“What’s on your mind, Lamont?” Phobos asked, without looking away from the wall of slowly flashing lights.
“Aren’t you curious?” Lamont blurted. It wasn’t what he had meant to say.
The question was apparently unexpected enough that the Martian turned his large head briefly to look at Lamont. “Curious about what?” He asked.
“About the tower,” the newspaperman clarified.