For some reason since they had
blasted from Sargol the cat had been lazy--as if his adventures afield
there had sapped much of his vitality.
"Why aren't you out working?" Dane asked as he leaned over to scratch
under a furry chin raised for the benefit of such a caress. "You inspect
the hold lately, boy?"
Sinbad merely blinked and after the manner of his species looked
infinitely bored. As Dane turned to go the Cargo-master came in. He
showed no surprise at Dane's presence. Instead he reached out and
fingered the label of the tape Dane had just chosen. After a glance at
the identifying symbol he took it out of his assistant's hand, plopped it
back in its case, and stood for a moment eyeing the selection of past
voyage records. With a tongue-click of satisfaction he pulled out another
and tossed it across the desk to Dane.
"See what you can make out of this tangle," he ordered. But Dane's
shoulders went back as if some weight had been lifted from them. The old
easiness was still lacking, but he was no longer exiled to the outer
darkness of Van Rycke's displeasure.
Holding the microtape as if it were a first grade Koros stone Dane went
back to his own cabin, snapped the tape into his reader, adjusted the ear
buttons and lay back on his bunk to listen.
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