Rosemary, who's pacing had presently taken her just behind the captain's chair, regarded Phobos with proverbial sparks in her green eyes. "Oy! Who are you calling 'semi-intelligent?'" She demanded.
"Let's say for the sake of argument that you're right," Phobos proposed, folding himself into the armchair across from Carter's. "The mere act of discouraging or preventing you from accessing certain areas of the structure isn't necessarily suggestive of an act of malice. It may have been a measure for mutual protection."
"Mutual protection?" Lamont repeated, incredulous.
The Martian steepled his long fingers thoughtfully. "An analogy: Let us say that circumstances placed a group of semi-intelligent but primitive creatures aboard Westward. In the interest of protecting not only the delicate machinery of the ship, but also the visitors themselves from harm, would we not restrict their movements to certain pre-approved areas? Not only would taking such action be sensible, but failure to take such an action would arguably be unconscionable."
Rosemary, who's pacing had presently taken her just behind the captain's chair, regarded Phobos with proverbial sparks in her green eyes. "Oy! Who are you calling 'semi-intelligent?'" She demanded.
"I was making a comparison," Phobos explained mildly. "Intelligence is relative."
"It begs the question of how often you make that comparison, mate," Lamont said thinly. "And in what contexts."
"As offensive as it may have sounded," Francis said, glancing apologetically toward the ruffled medic, "Phobos makes a valid point. Assuming that the tower's actions are benign, its actions here don't necessarily need to be construed as hostile."
"Mustard gas," Lamont reminded him. "If we hadn't been wearing Martian suits, we would have died."
Phobos lifted a long finger instructively. "But you were wearing Martian suits."
"I think we have to concede here that we can't know for certain what dynamics were at play," Carter concluded, yawning. "Benign, hostile, accidental—or something else entirely."
"But you're leaning toward benign," Lamont said, his tone suggesting more of an accusation than an inquiry.
"Far from it," the captain deflected, straightening in his chair with a visible wince. "I've suspected from the beginning that the tower may be pursuing an agenda that is not at all compatible with our own."
"Then why didn't you just say so?" Lamont asked.
Rosemary, who had walked in the direction of the captain, placed a hand on the back of his chair—or on his back, perhaps, since the chair had a low back and her hand was hidden from Lamont's view. "Because, much as I hate to admit it, the point Phobos made is as good as any. And we're all just guessing."
Francis glanced up at her appreciatively.
"There's no reason to be discouraged," Phobos said to Lamont. "After all, even if the lower portion of the tower is concealed from your view, there are still many hundreds of levels that apparently are not. There's no telling what might be learned from a systematic exploration of those areas."
Lamont looked at the Martian fixedly, forcing himself to directly meet his golden, shadow-enveloped eyes. "Because," he replied, "If the lower part is being actively obstructed, then that's the only part of the tower worth seeing. Everything else is just…what the tower wants us to see."
I thought that was really diplomatic of Phobos to put it that way. Like, it wasn't meant for them specifically, more in the sense that the tower wouldn't know who might come knocking