Free Wreck of the Nebula Dream by Veronica Scott Page A

night when he was on duty,” Nick protested mildly. “Is the poor guy on duty 24/7?”
    “I’m sorry, Passenger Jameson, but the second officer isn’t available.”
    “All right, all right, I got it. Say, what is the updated arrival time now, anyway?”
    “Official arrival time at Sector Hub is unchanged, sir,” came the prompt, firm reply.
    As he headed off in search of breakfast, Nick wondered how long SMT planned to keep up this pretense there was a chance of breaking the records. Going to have a lot of upset passengers, once we reach Hub and they find out how much time the engine breakdown actually cost them. Glad it’s not my problem.
    After another evening of half-hearted gambling in the casino, and attendance at the Tlingqit Acrobatic Show, Nick was tempted to ask for a transfer of his ticket to the cryo sleep pods on Level Six and get the rest of this long trip over with in blissful oblivion. I’m probably the unhappiest person on the damn ship, other than the SMT Line president, who has to deal with the outrage of all the other passengers when we dock at Hub.
    For the second straight night, Nick was awakened by a ship malfunction. This time he was hurled abruptly out of bed, landing halfway across the cabin, instinctively curling to break his fall even as he transitioned from sleep to full wakefulness in midair. The deck pitched violently underneath him, and Nick was thrown the other direction, fetching up against the bed platform shoulder first with bruising force.
    Rubbing his shoulder, Nick glared around the cabin. “Ship, what the hell is going on?”  
    No answer.  
    The Nebula Dream pitched to starboard, but not as drastically, and then slowly returned to near vertical. Getting cautiously to his feet, Nick grabbed for his scattered clothes, pulling them on as fast as possible.
    “Ship, I want status.” Nick fastened his blue shirt as the deck wobbled underfoot again. The engines are down again, for one thing. Determined to wrest some information from someone, he made his way to the interface panel.
    Just as he got there, clinging to the molded desk as the ship shuddered again, the image of Captain Bonlors appeared. Flickering once, the holo stabilized. Amazingly, the captain continued to project unshakable calm. If I hadn’t met the man, I’d be wondering if he was nothing but a well-designed hologram . Reassuring to the passengers or not, no one should be this serene while in charge of a ship pitching and rolling in space like the Nebula Dream .
    “Again, I must apologize to you, my passengers,” the image was saying. “We have experienced a small malfunction –”
    “Not from where I’m standing, pal,” Nick said grimly. “Small is not the word for it.” He grabbed for his boots, which had gone flying across the cabin in the last gyration, and pulled them on with impatience.
    “And we will be underway again shortly.” The captain’s well-modulated baritone voice remained soothing. “We must ask the passengers to stay in their cabins, or the casino – wherever you are at the moment, if you please, and not get in the way of the crew as we correct this minor situation.” Bonlors leaned in, as if talking personally to each passenger viewing this broadcast. “I have to say this will affect our try for the speed record a bit, but I’m confident we’ll still dock at Hub ahead of schedule. Just not as early, I’m afraid.”
    And the image winked off.
    Nick swore a string of vivid spacer’s curses. What a load of condescending disinformation Bonlors was trying to sell. Even the civilian passengers must realize by now the situation isn’t good. Never mind talk of speed records! “Ship, get me McElroy.”
    “Not available, sir,” the AI reported immediately.
    Nick was not surprised at the refusal.
    Going out into the corridor, he checked in both directions to see what was happening on his level. There were a few other passengers congregated in the wide walkway, talking and