Phobos examined the rod minutely, holding it delicately in both hands. “I see,” he said, smiling faintly. “The tower is alien. And I’m alien. So naturally I must have some special insight.”
“I’m exceedingly curious about the structure, Lamont,” Phobos told him. “I’ve been monitoring our examination of it very closely from every available source. And of course, I would highly value any first-hand accounts you may have of your own experiences there.”
“But don’t you want to see it for yourself?” Lamont Pressed.
The Martian gazed thoughtfully at the inscrutable array of lights before him. “If there were a matter that could be resolved in no other way, I suppose that it could warrant a personal visit,” he finally allowed.
“Clifford Ashton, the engineer who dabbles in archeology, slipped off the asteroid pod before we left,” Lamont explained. “He seems to be under the influence of the Cloud of Witnesses, as he calls them, and I have a hunch he’s going to be more difficult to find this time. We could use your help.”
Phobos turned his shadowed eyes toward Lamont briefly. Sitting on the stool, he was just about eye-level with the newspaperman. “Why?” He asked.
“Well, most of what we’ve found there is utterly outside our experience. We’re making wild guesses at best about what any of it is for. You could have valuable insights…” Lamont trailed off. The Martian’s long fingers had selected one of the bulbs and, with a little twist, pulled it from its socket. Lamont saw now that the component only superficially resembled a light bulb. Emerging from the bulb, which counterintuitively lit up when pulled from the socket, was a sort of rod, nearly two feet long, from which branched dozens of delicate, luminous projections.
Phobos examined the rod minutely, holding it delicately in both hands. “I see,” he said, smiling faintly. “The tower is alien. And I’m alien. So naturally I must have some special insight.”
Lamont grimaced. “I didn’t mean that, exactly.”
Phobos looked over the strange object to meet his eyes. “It’s an understandable assumption, Lamont. But incorrect. The presence of the tower in this system took me as much by surprise as it did you, and I don’t know any more about it than you do.”
“But you have experience with—with strange things,” Lamont objected. “Surely that must count for something.”
Phobos carefully placed the rod in a toolbox that was set beside the stool. “You overestimate my experience,” he explained. “I was taken from Mars in an infant state and brought to a secret facility in Mesoamerica, where I stayed until the construction of Westward was nearing completion. While there, I never got closer to Mars than low orbit.” He waved a long arm at the dimly lit tangle of strange machinery in which they were cocooned. “This is what I know, Lamont. Little more.”