except for the tape patches on the upholstery. “You cleaning her up to take
possession?” he asked outright.
“No,” Allison said.
“Can’t touch anything without fingerprinting it.”
“That’s fine. It’s old habits.”
He looked back at them standing there, reckoned how the place would feel without
them. Nodded then. “Looks like she used to,” he admitted, and turned back and
walked onto the bridge.
She went out, Le Cygne did, with empty holds, moving lightly as she could in
that condition.
Comp talked to them, commending them that they had got it right. Jump coming up,
Sandy. Find your referent.”
“Got it,” Allison said from number two post, talking back to comp and to him,
and the numbers came up on the screen.
The checks came in from the others, routine matters.
They headed for Pell, for station cargo this time, and reckoned Dublin would
pass them on the way. There was a bet on, inside Le Cygne, about elapsed-time
and drinks when they got there. He reckoned to win it, knowing his ship.
But it was all one account, anyway.