"Did we really have to offload the colonists? If something else had happened—if the tower didn't show itself to be habitable—what would we have done? Would we have simply jettisoned the colonists into space?”
"When we first arrived at the tower," Ed observed, "it practically took our hands and led us to the garden level—an environment specifically designed, apparently, to keep us alive."
"Physically, at least, for a time," Lamont conceded. "But what kind of life is it? Once the initial novelty of the garden passed, its occupants mostly settled into a kind of apathetic lethargy. The only lasting diversion has proven to be the grove, which fills their heads with fantastic visions and further disconnects them from the physical reality of where they are and what they're doing. In the meantime, they're not sleeping properly and they're barely eating anything. And I don't suppose I need to mention the health effects of leaving the garden after having been there for a while."
Captain Carter's long face lengthened further as he listened to the newspaperman's tirade. His hands absently worked at the brass pommel of his cane, which he had placed before him on the tabletop.
"I agree that there are concerning factors," Amila allowed, "especially in light of what we've witnessed tonight. But given the circumstances, what choice do we have? We had to relieve the burden on Westward's systems in order to affect repairs."
"Did we?" Francis asked quietly.
All eyes turned toward the captain.
Carter's tongue flickered uncomfortably over his pale lips before he repeated: "Did we really have to offload the colonists? If something else had happened—if the tower didn't show itself to be habitable—what would we have done? Would we have simply jettisoned the colonists into space? I think not."
"It's a moot point, captain," Amila pointed out. "We made what appeared to be the best choice at the time. We'll have time to analyze it when the present crisis is passed. Until then, we should focus on the present."
Out of uniform, in his pajamas and robe, the captain looked older, almost frail. Francis uttered his reply in a somber, measured cadence. "I agree. To go back and change a past mistake is impossible. To take steps to correct that mistake now, on the other hand, would merely be…extremely difficult."
"What are you suggesting?" Ed asked.
Carter turned his eyes to Lamont. The newspaperman had noticed that there were times when the blue of the captain's irises turned to a somber gray, as if storm clouds were overtaking a clear sky. This was one of those times. "In your opinion, Lamont, should we return the refugees to Westward?"
Lamont swallowed, reflecting momentarily on the implications of his response. Lives were at stake—not just the lives of the refugees, but the lives of every passenger aboard Westward. He could see that he had the undivided attention of the captain now in a way that he wished he'd had a week or two earlier. In the meantime, the situation had become more complex. Westward had been further compromised by Clifford's sabotage, and the refugees had become more attached to the tower. It might simply be too late.
"In my opinion," the newspaperman answered slowly, "we should make every effort to bring them back."