The passageway beyond the inner door was dark, save for the light that filtered in through the lock. The air had a strange odor, not precisely foul but lifeless-old.
The control room beyond was dimly but adequately lighted; the light from outside filtered softly through the sheathing that still covered the quartz pilot's port. The room was very cramped. The cadets were used to roomy modern ships; the Astartes wings gave her a false impression of great size. Inside she was smaller than the jeep.
Tex began humming something about "-stout-hearted men-," then broke off suddenly. "Look at the darned thing!" he said. "Just look at it. To think they actually made an interplanetary jump in it. Look at that control board. Why, she's as primitive as a rowboat. And yet they took the chance. Puts you in mind of Columbus and the Santo Maria"
"Or the Viking ships," suggested Matt.
"There were men in those days," agreed Oscar, not very originally but with great sincerity.
"You can say that louder," commented Tex. "There's no getting around it, fellows; we were born too late for the age of adventure. Why, they weren't
even heading for a listed port; they just blasted off into the dark and trusted to luck that they could get back."
"They didn't get back," Oscar said softly.
"Let's talk about something else," Matt requested. "I'm covered with goose pimples as it is."
"Okay," Oscar concurred, "I'd better get back and see what her royal nibs is doing anyway." He left, to return almost at once, accompanied by the city mother. "She was just waiting to be invited," he called out ahead of them, in Basic, "and huffy at being forgotten. Help me butter her up."