His head spinning, he grabbed the young woman's arm, suddenly afraid that she might pitch headlong into the darkness below. "Let's go back to the lift," he said.
"I know," Lamont rasped. "I've been here."
"Have you?" Constance asked, looking at him.
"When Rosemary and I went looking for you and the others last week, we stopped at every floor until we found you."
"Oh, right," Constance nodded. She peered down over the edge of the metal platform, strings of dark hair falling from her loose ponytail and sticking to her yellow-tinged cheeks. There was a dim green glow beneath them, and the suggestion of thick liquid bubbling in the great metal tanks that were half-visible in the thick, murky depths.
From his reading of the globe-map, Lamont estimated that this level had a height roughly matching its diameter—about 500 feet. His head spinning, he grabbed the young woman's arm, suddenly afraid that she might pitch headlong into the darkness below. "Let's go back to the lift," he said.
She looked at his copper-gloved hand gripping her arm with what was probably bruising pressure, then turned her eyes toward his through strings of wet hair. "Have you thought about what it must mean?" She asked.
"How can you think of anything in this place?" Lamont asked, a tinge of desperation creeping into his voice. He tugged insistently at her arm. "Come on, love."
Constance acquiesced and allowed Lamont to guide her back to the central column and through the invisible barrier of the shuttle's threshold, where they both gasped in the pure, filtered air. Once they were safely inside, Lamont released his grip on her arm and stumbled toward the padded wall, which he leaned against for support. Constance stood opposite him. Her hair clung in wet strings to a neck and collar that were dripping with sweat and condensation. Her orange coveralls clung heavily to her skin. Lamont's face felt as if he had placed it inside of an oven, but the rest of his body was kept cool by the vacuum suit. He could only imagine what Constance was experiencing, and marvel at the force of will she must have been exerting to stay upright. After a moment, she pressed her back against the wall, allowing its magnetic pull to help.
"Why did you do that?" Lamont asked breathlessly.
"I want to know what you think," Constance replied. "And I don't want anybody else listening in."
"What I think about what?"
"About that," Constance answered, tipping her dripping head toward the green glow of the doorway. "About the fact that this is what's beneath the floor of the garden."
Lamont stopped and reflected, turning his eyes from her to look out into the murky darkness beyond the lift. "I hadn't considered it. But it seems like some kind of chemical processing facility."
Constance nodded, tugging at her collar. "It reminds me of a factory I worked at when I was younger. It broke down waste to cultivate organic proteins for astronaut food and agriculture."
The newspaperman blinked at the young woman unbelievingly. She was twenty-two years old. "How young were you?" He asked.
She shrugged. "Eleven or twelve."
"And you were allowed to work in a place like that?"