Lamont was beginning to realize lately how much comfort the human crew of Westward derived from adding a thin and probably superfluous veneer of human technology over the Martian essentials.
Lamont Townsend stepped out onto the barren surface of the moon, the weird landscape stretching in every direction under the looming mass of the alien tower. He glanced back briefly at the asteroid pod as it receded into the distance, ferrying the mining crew to their destination a few miles away. The vessel made no sound as he watched it through the transparent globe of his helmet; all he could hear was Carter's quietly labored breathing. The captain was an odd figure—lanky, space-suited, but leaning heavily on a cane against the heavy gravity of the mineral-rich moon. Lamont knew better than to ask after Carter's wellbeing, however; no one was more equipped than he to know what he was getting into.
Lamont returned his attention to the direction of the tower. The captain and the Martian seemed unperturbed by their bleak surroundings, already setting off with purpose towards the tower's base. Lamont lingered a moment, taking in the unearthly terrain that surrounded them. Between them and the tower was something like a quarter-mile of black, jagged rock interspersed with pools of viscous oxygen that reflected the deep blue glow of the gas giant around which they orbited. Despite the physical warmth provided by his suit, Lamont once again found himself feeling chilled to the bone by the utter weirdness and desolation. "Who," he wondered aloud, "Would choose such a place to build a colony?"
Francis paused and turned to look back at Lamont. Like Lamont's, the captain's helmet was a hard shell attached to a mechanical cowl that fit over the Martian vacuum suit. This was technically unnecessary; as Phobos was demonstrating, the suit was capable of inflating a membranous balloon around its skintight hood that provided oxygen. But Lamont was beginning to realize lately how much comfort the human crew of Westward derived from adding a thin and probably superfluous veneer of human technology over the Martian essentials. He recalled the millions of humans who had built their own cities in the technological carcass of Mars itself.
"An excellent question," Carter said. "Perhaps the tower predated the moon's current environment. All this oxygen may have been an atmosphere, once. Or its builders simply had different needs. Or different sensibilities."
A few minutes passed in which the trio worked their way across the uneven terrain, silent except for the small sounds of exertion that filtered through their radios. Lamont was glad of the noise, grateful that down here, inside the magnetic field of the moon, their radio signals were not drowned out by those of the tower. He briefly allowed his eyes to drift upward and immediately regretted it. His eyes followed the dark, maddening length of the tower as it rose infinitely up into the star-speckled sky, disappearing into an indefinite point. The impossible height of it seemed to draw him up, to topple the world around him. There was an insanity to it. He found himself stumbling, tripping into a pool of dimly luminescent oxygen. As he struggled to extricate his booted feet from the molasses-like substance, it clung to him, letting go only with reluctance as he cursed and clawed at it. Finally free, he watched as it lingered behind him like ghostly tentacles, curling back toward the depression from which it came with every semblance of disappointed reluctance.