"Lots of passengers this trip," said Jensen.
"Yes," said the doctor, watching a man with a limp. "Why?"
Jensen shrugged and did not answer. He was uneasy, the doctor noted. He and Jensen were as much unlike as two men could very well be, but Jensen was good company. A ship's doctor does not have much congenial society.
The file of passengers ended abruptly. There was no one in the Star Queen's airlock, but the "Connected" lights still burned and the doctor could look through into the small lift-ship from the planet down below. He frowned. He fingered the sheaf of papers.
"Unless I missed count," he said annoyedly, "there's supposed to be one more passenger. I don't see—"
A door opened far back in the lift-ship. A small figure appeared. It was a little girl perhaps ten years old. She was very neatly dressed, though not quite the way a mother would have done it. She wore the carefully composed expression of a child with no adult in charge of her. She walked precisely from the lift-ship into the Star Queen's lock. The opening closed briskly behind her. There was the rumbling of seals making themselves tight. The lights flickered for "Disconnect" and then "All Clear." They went out, and the lift-ship had pulled away from the Star Queen.
"There's my missing passenger," said the doctor.
The child looked soberly about. She saw him. "Excuse me," she said very politely. "Is this the way I'm supposed to go?"
"Through that door," said the doctor gruffly.