Then, his eyes fell on something new: An unfamiliar outline of triangular peaks situated not far from the canopy of the grove. "What are those?" Lamont asked, pointing.
Lamont turned to Rico. "Isn't there something you can do?"
The security specialist rubbed the knuckles of his right hand thoughtfully. "Si," he concluded, "but even with the element of surprise, subduing him could be ugly."
"I was thinking more along the lines of persuasion," Lamont grimaced. "It's no skin off my nose either way, but I want to be able to tell Carter that I tried."
"I know that Westward isn't a military ship—we're employees of United Space under contract, and we're technically free to break that contract if we choose to," Higgins explained. A little older than Lamont, he struck Lamont as the level-headed sort. "I tried to explain to Lucas—Silva, that is—that it's not a decision to be made lightly, but no dice. He said it didn't matter."
"Why not?" Lamont asked.
Higgins shifted uncomfortably. "He, uh, said we'd all end up here anyway. In the end."
The newspaperman snapped his fingers in consternation and looked past the two men, toward the garden that encircled them. Everywhere his eyes fell, there was a strange and compelling sight: Plants that resembled giant translucent flowers growing out of green-blue tubas. A straight, tree-like trunk with branches that sprouted something like abstract glass mobiles. An organically curved bridge that spanned a burbling, self-illuminated brook. The perpetual soft breeze in the air carried a dozen sounds and a hundred scents, and somehow they all worked together to facilitate a feeling of perfect peace and tranquility. And beyond it, towering archways leading to infinite, star-speckled black. Who would want to be out there instead? He asked himself.
Then, his eyes fell on something new: An unfamiliar outline of triangular peaks situated not far from the canopy of the grove. "What are those?" Lamont asked, pointing.
"Part of the Project," Clyde answered matter-of-factly. "Not quite done yet."
"The project?" Lamont repeated.
"I'll show you," Constance offered, dropping a box of vitamin supplements back into the crate through which she had been rifling. "It's time I headed back anyway." She looked up at Clyde. "Can you get some help moving this to the storehouse?"
"I suppose I can take a quick look," Lamont conceded, glancing at his watch. "Maybe talk to Lee or Silva if I see them." It was half an hour later than he'd assumed, but he had come not to be surprised by that. If Rosey was getting anxious, she could always come up herself.
"Do you want us to stay here?" Sofia asked unenthusiastically.
"I won't be long," Lamont replied. "Twenty minutes at most. Then we'll be off."
Constance had already started walking at a brisk pace along one of the paths of translucent flagstones that led in the direction of the peaked structures. "Come on, Townsend," she said, without looking back. "Maybe you can try some of your persuasion on the wayward sailors."
As Lamont turned to follow her, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that 7-year old Tessa had crouched by the lift door to pick up the trampled cigarette butt. She pinched it gingerly between two fingers and flicked it a few feet away, watching with satisfaction as it was absorbed silently into the spongy ground.