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left the constant rotation-inspired feeling of gravity which Franklin provided. As the ship drifted away from the station, Paul's stomach and inner ears began insisting he was falling. He gulped, fighting off the nausea. We haven't been inport that long. You'd think I'd still have my space-legs .
    The last line holding the ship to the station came free. "Underway. Shift colors," the bosun announced. Sudden, gentle lurches pushed Paul against his straps as the Michaelson 's maneuvering thrusters fired. He watched the image of Franklin falling down and away as the ship accelerated farther from the station. More thruster firings nudged Paul in different directions as the Michaelson 's bow was brought around to the right heading. Gentle and smooth. That's got to be Colleen Kilgary driving the ship. Sam Yarrow'd be giving us all bruises by now .
    A moment later the main drive kicked in. Paul sank deep into his seat as the almost nonexistent feeling of gravity was replaced by acceleration strong enough that he felt over twice his normal weight. His stomach complained again, protesting the changes in up and down.
    Paul moved his hand carefully against the force of the acceleration, using controls to shift his display presentation to show the Michaelson 's new path through space. Symbols glowed to mark other spacecraft, each with vector arrows arching away to show their speed and direction of travel relative to the Michaelson . A pale line came into view, marking the vector the Michaelson sought, slowly converging on the actual course of the ship. The actual course and intended course lines merged as the main drive cut off.
    Another stomach lurch as sustained heavy acceleration was replaced by free fall. Paul gritted his teeth. I'm used to this. Just give it a little while to adjust again . To distract himself, he scrolled out his display to where the symbol marking the Maury hung ahead of the Michaelson . With both ships moving along the same path at the same speed, the relative position of the Maury wouldn't change until the ships fired thrusters or main drives again. And they wouldn't do that for several hours, when they were approaching the area where the foreign ships awaited the Americans.
    "Secure from maneuvering status. All hands are free to move about."
    Paul shook his head, causing his inner ears to wobble a little more. For some reason, that helped his body adjust to zero gravity faster. He unstrapped, floating free of the chair, and using the handholds positioned everywhere began pulling himself toward the hatch out of combat. "Good job, everybody."
    Over the year and a half since reporting aboard the ship he'd learned to pull himself through the narrow confines of the Michaelson 's passageways, gliding through hatches while avoiding all the wires, cables and equipment which often seemed to have been diabolically positioned to slam or snag human arms, legs or heads. Sailors passed him, waiting for Paul to go through a hatch first because of his status as an officer, though Paul himself had to hug the side of a passageway and wait for the chief engineer, Commander Destin, as she came by. Destin, who always seemed to be carrying a virtual cloud of depression in her wake, brushed past Paul without a word. Paul spared one brief glance at Destin before continuing on his way. Still no love lost there. I sure hope Captain Hayes doesn't decide I should transfer into the engineering department .
    Two hours later, Paul pulled himself onto the bridge for his own watch as junior officer of the deck. Kris Denaldo, who'd been standing the watch, pretended to make a prayer of thanks. "Hey, I'm not late."
    "No," she agreed. "It's just soooo boring." Denaldo pointed to the maneuvering display, where the symbols representing the other ships seemed to hang unchanging against the immense emptiness of space. "We're going somewhere fast but you wouldn't know it. It's still six hours until we maneuver for the rendezvous with the furriners.