Clair cried, "Welcome aboard ship. Captain Brooks, wel.... Umm-m, Captain, that was nice.... Umm-m, again...."
Gramps coughed. "You two gonna stand there mooning over each other all afternoon, or do we get some work done?"
"It's just about all finished," Clair told him. She snuggled up close once more and then skipped out of my arms, leading us through the lock and into the Karden.
It looked more like the inside of a packing crate than a spaceship. Ideally, the old Kardens were two-man cruisers, at a time when you strapped yourself into a bunk and just about remained there until you hit atmosphere. Now Clair had readied three makeshift bunks, and our supplies stood piled tight against the bulkheads and as high as the ceiling in several places. I had to take Clair's word that the ship's old hull was sealed and could be pressurized—there wasn't enough space for me to see for myself.
The trip had left me a bit bleary, and Clair, who had worked all day, yawned a little while she opened a can of beans and bacon for supper. We sat around against the packing cases and we smoked. Then I checked a few things which remained to be checked, and I suggested we turn in. Clair nodded, but Gramps said no, he had a little unfinished business yet.
I needed sleep, every bit of it I could get, for the grueling run tomorrow. I leaned back and stretched out, with my feet sticking out a good half a foot beyond the edge of the bunk, and then I heard Gramps' unfinished business.
The nasal twang of the eight-stringed Martian guitar blended with the dubious qualities of Gramps' voice:
He'll hug and he'll kiss you
And tell you more lies
Than the cross ties on the railroad