“Sure. It’s all right.”
The young man put down the tray. Something in the way he looked at it prompted Ross to invite him: “Have some with me? More here than I can handle.”
“Thanks; I believe I will. I, uh, was supposed to take my break after I brought you this stuff.” He poured steaming brew into the cup that covered the jug, politely pushed it to Ross and swigged from the jug himself. “You’re with the starship?” he asked, around a mouthful of sandwich.
“Yes. I—the captain, that is—wants to contact an outfit called Cavallo Machine-Tool. You know where they are?”
“Sure. Biggest firm on the south side. Fifteen Street; you can’t miss them. The captain—is she the lady who was with Pilot Breuer?”
“Yes.”
The youngster’s eyes widened. “You mean you were in space—alone—with a lady?”
Ross nodded and chewed.
“And she didn’t—uh—there wasn’t—well—any problem?”
“No,” said Ross. “You have much trouble with that kind of thing?”