The outside of Jorgensen's looked like any other flimsy construction under the dome. We had just passed a row of small warehouses, and the only difference seemed to be the lighted sign at the front.
"We can stop at the bar inside while we order dinner," I said.
"Sounds good," said Howlet. "I could go for a decent meal. Rations on an exploring ship run more to calories than taste."
The pilot muttered something behind us. Howlet turned his head.
"Don't worry about it, Hughie," he retorted. "It'll be all over the dome by tomorrow anyway."
"But they said not to—"
"Mr. Lewis won't say anything, and he's not the only spacer who'll guess it."
It was easy to figure out. Ships did little exploring in the Belt now—plenty of untouched rocks there but nothing really unknown. "Exploring" could only mean that a hop to Jupiter was in the works at last. There had already been rumors about a few wide swings outside the Belt.
Well, it was just about time.