"The success of Westward's mission isn't only about the fate of 50 colonists. It's about the future of humankind. If you had any idea what it took to get where we are right now, you'd see that."
A long and awkward silence suddenly enveloped the captain's cabin. Carter and Phobos looked at each other. The Martian's expression was as inscrutable as ever, but the captain's face was longer and more pale than Lamont would have believed possible. Lamont, having opened his cigarette case while talking, snapped it closed again without removing anything from it.
"I'm sorry," He said slowly. "I meant to suggest that we can return to Earth for supplies in a pinch. Perhaps it came out sounding as if I'd proposed cannibalizing the children."
"Lamont!" Rosemary gasped.
"Setting aside the theatrics," Carter said, raising a hand. "Returning to Earth is obviously out of the question. We will—we must—find another way."
Lamont gazed perplexedly at the stony faces of Phobos and Francis. Certainly, he reflected, a premature return to Earth would be less than ideal. It could add the better part of a year to Westward's mission, since Escherspace could only be used well outside the primary orbits of a star system, and the ship would need to travel the rest of the way using its conventional fusion rockets. And it was true that the crew of Westward would have precious little to show for their time away. But was Carter really so arrogant that he would jeopardize the lives of 150 people to protect his pride?
"Naturally, it's not what any of us would want to do," Lamont conceded. "But there's got to be some point at which such an action would be considered."
"You don't know what you're saying, Monty," Francis replied. His voice had taken on an icy quality. "The success of Westward's mission isn't only about the fate of 50 colonists. It's about the future of humankind. If you had any idea what it took to get where we are right now, you'd see that." He took a gulp of his drink before adding: "No, the situation would need to be far more dire."
"Bloody hell, man!" Lamont exclaimed. "How much more dire do you expect this to get?"
Several minutes later, Lamont quietly closed the door to Carter's cabin, his eyes following the bowed form of Phobos as the Martian quietly receded down the dimly lit corridor.
"That went well," Rosemary said, lifting a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn.
Lamont looked at her wryly. "I suppose you want me to apologize," he said.
"For what?" Rosemary asked. "Francis is clearly being unreasonable."
"You could have said something," Lamont frowned.
"You can't ask me to take sides between you and him, Monty," the medic said, her voice quiet and serious. "You can't." Then, she abruptly put on a cheerful face and added: "Besides, I got what I wanted. There was no need to draw the conversation out further."
"That's all that matters, I suppose," Lamont sighed. He vaguely waved his hand in front of his eye and said, "Be seeing you," before turning to slump toward his own cabin.
After a few steps, he heard Rosemary say, "Lamont, wait."
Curiously, he turned to face her again. She hesitated, biting her lip and asked: "Did you mean what you said? That nobody here wants to return to Earth right now?"
Lamont rubbed his neck tiredly and shrugged. "I suppose I can't speak for everyone."
The medic's green eyes regarded him piercingly in the shadows. "What about yourself?"