"There's nothing to be afraid of," Kara said, smiling.
He set his jaw and went with her to the ladder and climbed it and passed into the ship.
It smelled like a submarine, of oil and metal and canned air. There was a man in an odd-looking coverall who stared at him and spoke to Kara. He heard Kara explaining, and in the meanwhile the lock door behind him was grinding shut and locking itself with relentless precision.
Kara said, "This is Thile. He commands the ship."
Birrel shook hands with him. He was a small lean man with very keen eyes and a hard competent jaw.
"So Holmer and Rett are both dead," he said, with grim regret. "Well, we'll make Vannevan pay for them. Help him strap in, Kara. We're taking off at once." He looked at Birrel. "If we can get back to Ruun without delay, you may be able to convince our sheeplike leaders in time. I hope so."
He hurried away somewhere forward—or up. Kara took Birrel into a small cabin where there were several padded couches, and helped him secure himself with broad webbing straps.
"Scared?"
"Not a bit."
"Liar. Don't worry about it. The first take-off is always the worst." She leaned over impulsively and kissed him, ludicrously like a mother tucking a fretful child into bed. The ship suddenly gave a great roar and a quiver, and a raucous horn began to sound. She scrambled into the couch next to his.