as plain as the nose on your face, if your nose happened to be Liaden. Since hers wasn’t, she’d memorized which buttons Nova pressed to draw what kind of rations. She fished the cup out of the dispenser and punched the button again, then walked both cups carefully down the narrow hallway to the piloting chamber. They were due to fall out of Jump pretty soon—a way stop, not Lytaxin itself. Nova was at the board, which was where Nova mostly was, except for an odd hour of sleep, or a short stroll down to the canteen to draw tea or food—that she ate and drank while sitting watch over her board. “Here you go, Goldie.” Liz slid one cup into the holder of the arm of the pilot’s chair, and, juggling the other cup, got herself into the cramped co-pilot’s seat. “My thanks,” Nova said absently, busy with some figuring on a tiny work screen set off to the side of the main board. “No problem,” Liz said, anchoring her cup and pulling the webbing across. Not that Nova was likely to give them a thrill breaking Jump—she’d shown herself far too able a pilot for that.
