“Where’s the bloody bellhop?” Lamont grunted as he pushed a metal case up against the padded wall of the lift on its small wheels. “I’m considering leaving a very pointed note in the guestbook.”
Lamont was amazed that the trip from Westward to the tower’s landing bay, and from the landing bay to the shuttle that would take them to the garden, had become almost routine. By some unspoken agreement, he and Rosemary had both opted to wear their Martian pressure suits this time. Lamont felt self-conscious in the skin-tight copper outfit, but he planned to do some exploring this time, and the small embarrassment was outweighed by the comfort of feeling more prepared for the unexpected. At the moment, though, it seemed unnecessary.
Contrasted against the oppressive weirdness of the moon below, the fantastic architecture of the tower felt familiar and predictable. He was losing the nagging fear that something unpredictable might happen. The “electromagnetic membrane,” as Ed called it, had swiftly opened upon the asteroid pod’s approach, inviting the craft to land in the same bay from which it had departed some three days earlier. The cigar-shaped vessel remained exactly as Clifford had left it, with strands of softly glowing entrails hanging from its underside. The curved doors of the lift snapped open dutifully when Lamont and Rosemary approached it, this time lugging no fewer than six bulky boxes of equipment along with them.
“Where’s the bloody bellhop?” Lamont grunted as he pushed a metal case up against the padded wall of the lift on its small wheels. “I’m considering leaving a very pointed note in the guestbook.”
Rosemary chuckled as she set down two bulky cases. “Mind if I do the honors?” She asked.
Lamont shrugged and planted himself against the padded wall, unsurprised now at the way it pulled him close against it, as if he were lying down rather than standing up. Rosemary stood near the center of the shuttle and watched their fish-eyed reflections in the control sphere as it silently descended from its nest in the ceiling.
When the door slid open again, they were facing the strange wonderland of the garden, apparently just as they had left it, with its fantastic variety of semi-organic structures contrasted against the stark starscape beyond. Here and there, they could see signs of the colonists’ presence—a flash of movement behind something resembling foliage, or a shack that had been built conspicuously out of materials from Westward. Lamont began to push the wheeled box out of the lift and nearly ran into Jihyun Lee, who sprang from around the other side of the central column.
“Mr. Townsend!” The astrophysicist exclaimed. “Thank goodness you’re back!”
Rosemary, emerging from behind Lamont, asked: “What’s the matter, Ji-Ji?”
Lamont noticed that the woman's sleek black hair, typically done up in a rather elaborate bun, was instead hastily pulled back. Her normally cheerful expression was now worried.
“It’s Rico,” Jihyun explained, brushing a loose strand of hair from her pale cheek. “He went on an exploration party with some of the colonists. That was nearly 12 hours ago, and they haven’t come back yet.”