Isabella is still sitting in her chair when he arrives. She has plotted a course to the next system she had lined up for survey.
"We can go now," he says.
Isabella makes no comment. On the weapons, on Lalita having taken them, on anything.
Flying, flying. The soft music Isabella put on earlier when she was getting dressed comes to an end. She queues up something else in a similar vein, neutrally, and on it comes.
Isabella allows the music to lapse into silence after the next collection is through, and she reads a little, and then she goes to bed.
Isabella is up ten hours later. She takes another shower. She changes outfits again. She comes out and sits in her chair and puts on music. She reads the news.
Isabella keeps the music respectfully soft and inputs her commands to the ship computer nonverbally when possible.
For someone who almost never practices, she has emotional suppression down cold, even if it seems to take everything else with it.
The next planned system wasn't far away from the abandoned one. Isabella sets about surveying its component parts, efficiently and silently.
Isabella will also accept lunch and dinner, if he offers them. If he does not, she warms things for herself between planets.