It was another hour before he had maneuvered so he could let her drift toward the open space-lock of the SP47 and she could feel her gloved hands touch something solid.
Then she was standing up. Larry was taking her helmet off and she was unzipping her suit. He was trying to look stern and reprimanding and she was trying to look defiant and unafraid.
"Don't think this earns you anything," she snapped.
"I hope the Hell Bat represented your last cent," he said coldly. "Being broke might teach you something. Now we do things my way."
Stella blinked. "Sure, Larry," she said huskily. "And—it was my last cent." A grim smile trembled on her lips. "Maybe I'll be slinging hash somewhere, and you will eat there and tip me a quarter."
His expression softened. "I took a look at your ship. It isn't completely damaged. You had one of those crash noses on it, and the mine hit there. It just might be navigable. I'll go take a look at it."
"Be careful," Stella said quickly.
He started to put on his space-suit. He looked up at her sharply. "You sure it represents your last cent? Every minute counts, and I wouldn't take the time to look it over...."
"Why do you think I wanted to save my freighter?" Stella said. "Unless I did, and got the money out of those robot bodies I bought, I—I wouldn't have enough to refuel my ship once we got back to Earth. I'm broke. Busted."