The captain was scooping it up in a trice, and Doug twisted the muscles of his face into a grimace of discomfort.
"Sir,—sir, is there something wrong?"
"I—no I don't think so, captain. Nervous strain, I'm afraid. I—" Another grimace.
"Sergeant! Three neuro-tablets at once—"
"No, no—" Doug said. "Like poison to me." He doubled over. "Captain...."
"Yes sir, what can I get—"
"Nothing, I'm afraid.... Back to Earth as quickly as possible—"
"Back to Earth, sir? But that's impossible! We're at least thirty minutes past C-limit, sir ... the trajectory's locked. We must continue, of course."
"Must—must continue?"
"Why, yes of course, sir."