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“You’re clueless,” she said and looked back to the field of stars.
    John smiled. “Well, that’s our flight plan. Wait till my shift starts and give me about ten minutes at the screens. By eight ten, we’ll be on our way.”
    “I heard Jerri’s pretty good too,” she said, referring to the senior pilot. “Bet you a scotch she’s done before you get there. Say, you don’t talk like a spacer. How come you’re sitting nav?”
    “I grew up on L5, and you do what you have to,” John said and looked back at the nebula.
    “Damn,” Meriel said softly, surprised. Her face softened, and she looked at him more closely. John did not look like what she expected a refugee from L5 to look like. She expected disease and deformity and, well, damage. However, the man standing next to her looked perfectly normal—kinda nice, actually, with that smile. Meriel realized she was staring at him, blushed, and looked away.
    “Sorry,” she said, but before she could say more, John’s comm link interrupted.
    “Bridge to Smith,” his link squawked. “Your link says you’re awake. Report, please.”
    “Smith here,” he said with a smirk. “I’m off duty, Socket. What do you want?”
    “Jerri told the OOD that we’d get moving a lot sooner with your help. So he says to get to the bridge stat or let me know why not.”
    John raised his eyebrows. “Jerri said that?”
    “Uh-huh,” Socket said. “Get over it. So you coming or not?”
    “On my way,” he said with a wink to Meriel.
    Meriel smirked at John’s confidence. “The bet stands. Ten minutes.”
    “Piece of cake,” he said. “See you at sixteen hundred.”
    “Don’t you sleep?”
    “A real scotch is worth it. See ya,” he said.
    “Uh, yeah.” Oops…did he think I meant real scotch ? she thought and watched him walk away. He doesn’t move like a spacer; he’s heavier on his feet, solid, not afraid of losing gravity .
    “Hello, Meriel,” a voice behind her said. She turned to see Patrick Ferrell, the ship’s doctor, walking toward her.
    Oh, crap . “Hi, Doc,” she said with a warm smile but took a step backward. “Sorry, but I’m in a hurry now. I need to check the cargo lashings before some crate turns into a projectile—”
    “Then stop for a minute,” Ferrell said. “You left me in the middle of our conversation yesterday and haven’t been to see me like you promised. I thought we had more to talk about.”
    “Sorry, Doc,” she said, walking slowly backward. “No more interviews. Nothing personal. I did all my talking on the Thrace and with the Troopers a decade ago, and there’s nothing left to figure out.” She paused. “My last ship had no complaints.”
    “You’re taking your meds, right?”
    “Sure, Doc.” She lied.
    “The drugs help you cope, Meriel.”
    “I’m coping fine. You see me ripping anybody’s head off?”
    “Well, I hoped something like that would never cross your mind. The meds help with the blackouts, too. We can’t have you blacking out on a cargo loader, now can we?”
    Meriel looked around, hoping no one else had heard him. She walked back to Ferrell. “I don’t have blackouts, Doc,” she said softly. “That was only when I was a kid. I just get nervous sometimes.” Damn, I just gave him more ammunition .
    “I understand completely,” he said. “I’ll make an appointment for—”
    Meriel brightened, seeing the possibility of escape, and started to back away again more quickly. “Sure, Doc. Before we complete the circuit.”
    “No, next shift,” he shouted after her.
    “Right. Next week. OK, I’ll be there,” she yelled back over her shoulder and ducked around the bulkhead.

Bridge
    John took a roundabout way to the bridge through the mess hall to pick up a mug of coffee from the replicator. He knew Jerri could find their way with the computer alone, but it would require lots of short jumps and fuel. Margins were tight, so the longer he delayed, the more they would appreciate his