The shuttle hit the upcurving part of the Sling, and the acceleration vector changed, now pushing him down in his seat as well as back. The pressure would only last seconds—possibly the longest seconds of his life.

As the shuttle left the Sling behind, boosters kicked in. Specially tuned microwave emitters heated and rarified the air in front of the shuttle, reducing air resistance as the vessel clawed its way into the sky.

The bump and rattle gradually faded as the shuttle climbed through the atmosphere. After five minutes, the boosters shut down, leaving them in free fall. The sudden silence made Ivan wonder for a moment if his hearing had been damaged. Fortunately, Davies provided his own brand of reassurance.

“Hey, looks like the noob survived. Didn’t even pee himself, I don’t think.”

Ivan turned his head to glare at Davies and provide suitable return fire.

Big mistake.

The hammering he’d just taken during launch, combined with the free fall conditions, were already playing hell with his beleaguered stomach. Add the insult to his inner ear from an abrupt turn of the head, and with an oop Ivan grabbed for the barf bag in the pocket in front of him. The retching seemed to go on forever.

One of the unfortunate aspects of the human condition was that the acrid odor of vomit tended to induce vomiting. Several more oops sounded through the cabin. There would probably be some eventual abuse for that, as well.

Finally recovered, his face dripping in sweat, he rolled up the bag and placed it in the receptacle. Turning to Seth Robinson, seated on his right in the middle seat, Ivan said, “Well, great. I guess I’ve just earned a nickname.”

“Naw,” replied Robinson. “If we gave out a nickname for puking, most of us would be called Barfie. You’ve got two days to get that under control, noob. If you’re still tossing it up come departure day, you’ll be scrubbed. You’ll get your money back for your share purchase, less the standard penalty. And we’ll be doing a six-month tour short a body. Clear?”

Ivan nodded, silent. The penalty would wipe out what small equity in his share he’d managed to build. If he washed out, he’d be left with nothing.

He glanced at Robinson. Freckled and redheaded, thin and gangly, a good fifteen centimeters taller than Ivan, Robinson could pass for a teenager in the right light. It was hard to believe that the man was old enough to hold a Spacer certificate. If Robinson could do it, Ivan could damn well do it.

“Docking maneuvers start in thirty seconds,” the P.A. announced.