"Francis mentioned that he was interested in seeing the base of the tower," Lamont said to Phobos, taking the seat beside the captain. "I didn't realize that you were planning to come as well."
"Good morning, everyone," Captain Carter said, giving a small nod. "Do any of you need a hand?" Between his cane and his helmet, both his gloved hands were technically occupied.
There was a cluster of mumbled negatives, mixed with surprised greetings. It was a reminder to Lamont that, even though 100 crew members shared the same confined space of Westward, the captain was a private enough individual that he was only rarely encountered by many of them. Lamont, an outsider to whom Francis often remained an enigma, probably knew the veteran astronaut better than most of the crew that was under his leadership.
"Very well," Carter smiled thinly. "Finish up and settle in. We launch in three minutes."
Passing Lamont, the captain began to make his way toward the front of the pod, inching around the two tanks that dominated the space. Phobos followed, crouching awkwardly, his large cranium barely clearing the riveted metal ribs of the cargo bay. Lamont followed hastily. When he passed through the small, double-walled threshold that separated the cargo area from the cockpit, Phobos had already folded himself into the bubble-windowed operator seat beside the pilot's console, and Francis was settling into one of the bucket seats behind it with an involuntary pained grunt. Lazarus was busily occupied with pre-flight procedures; if he was at all surprised by the arrival of the two, he didn't show it.
"Francis mentioned that he was interested in seeing the base of the tower," Lamont said to Phobos, taking the seat beside the captain. "I didn't realize that you were planning to come as well."
"'Planning' wouldn't be the right word," The Martian admitted, his hands experimentally moving over the array of controls before his folded knees without touching any of them. "Francis and I spoke about it this morning after you and Rosemary left, and we agreed that this may possibly be the only opportunity for both of us."
The newspaperman cleared his throat self-consciously. "I apologize," he said to Francis quietly, "If you lost any sleep because of us."
Carter waved his hand dismissively. "The visit from you and Rosemary was informative." He paused, and then gruffly added: "I realize that I may have come across as overly harsh. I—didn't mean to."
Lamont almost asked if Rosemary had put him up to the near-apology sometime after they'd left, but he stopped himself. He tugged at the skin-tight seam of the vacuum suit collar beneath his jacket. "We're all tired," he mumbled.
"Is that suit fitting poorly?" Carter asked, lifting a gray eyebrow.
"I don't think so," Lamont answered, dropping his hand. "I just don't relish the idea of putting it right back on after wearing it for nearly 24 hours."
Francis gave a small snort that was about the closest he ever came to a laugh. "If you were acquainted with the sort of suits I had to put on for 20 years, wearing these would feel like slipping into silk pajamas."