Lamont followed Rosemary into the cabin, he reflected on the fact that he had never before had occasion to visit the captain's suite during his time on Westward.
When the door to Captain Carter's suite opened a moment later, Lamont naturally expected to be faced with Francis himself, most likely annoyed at having been prematurely awakened from much-needed sleep. Instead, he found himself looking at the slender midsection of Phobos. He and Rosemary craned their necks to look up at the Martian.
"Good morning, Lamont, Rosemary," Phobos greeted them in his strangely high voice. "You're here to see Francis?"
"That's right," Rosemary answered. "Is he available?"
"Certainly," Phobos replied. "We were just conversing. I'm sure that you're welcome to join us."
The Martian stepped aside, holding the door open for the bemused pair. As Lamont followed Rosemary into the cabin, he reflected on the fact that he had never before had occasion to visit the captain's suite during his time on Westward. In fact, he had unconsciously assumed that no one ever did. Except, perhaps, in the last month or so, Rosemary. He glanced at her to see if she regarded the space with visible familiarity.
The door opened into a relatively large sitting area, beyond which was an Oriental-patterned screen that separated the bedroom and bathroom. The sitting area was large enough for a couch, two chairs and a coffee table. Set against the walls were dark wooden cabinets and shelves containing a variety of antiques—books, statuettes, and a number of early radios. These shared space with objects, presumably from Mars, that were less readily identifiable. Lamps with shades made of stained glass lighted the room, the overhead lights being switched off.
The medic seemed uninterested, if not familiar, with the contents of the space. She made her way directly across the thick rug to Captain Carter, who was seated in one of the chairs. His eyes widened at the sight of her.
"Rosemary!" He exclaimed. "If I'd known it was you, I would have gotten up." It was only then that he seemed to notice Lamont emerging from behind the towering form of Phobos, and he added: "Mr. Townsend."
"Your leg's bothering you?" Rosemary asked, approaching the chair.
The captain glanced ruefully at the cane that was propped against the arm of his chair. "No more than it usually does during the small hours. Which is to say—yes." Unlike Phobos, who was wearing his uniform sans jacket, Francis was dressed in two-piece pajamas, with slippers on his feet. Behind the collar of the captain's robe, Lamont could see part of the monogram stitched into the pajama top.
"Want me to take a look?" Rosemary asked, perching on the edge of the low coffee table, close to the captain.
Carter's eyes darted to Lamont and he gave a small, dismissive wave of his hand. "Not necessary," he said. "Please make yourselves comfortable. You've just returned from the tower, I see."
Lamont mumbled an affirmative. The captain's suite combined the qualities of being an intimate reflection of his tastes with a rather pristine formality. In his old expedition jacket and skintight vacuum suit, Lamont found himself feeling out-of-place. He was itchy and uncomfortable, afraid that his own smell was intruding on the exotic, spice-like scent that hung in the air. He forced himself to remember that the Martian suit contained and recycled anything that came from his body, including sweat, so his fears were irrational. He stiffly settled onto the couch across from the captain, shifting his recorder so that it rested on his lap.
"Well, you wouldn't have come here at this time if you didn't have something important to report," Carter observed.