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were nabbed and reeled in by the time the Michaelson 's gig had caught up with and snagged the third pod. The Michaelson 's thrusters and drive rolled and shoved the ship onto her intercept course with the sixth pod while the bridge watch began concentrating on keeping their breakfasts down. The fairly rapid series of accelerations, vector changes and abrupt returns to zero gravity had even the most veteran crew members feeling increasingly queasy. Paul made another unsuccessful attempt to adjust his harness straps so they'd hold him firmly and not aggravate any existing bruises, wondering once again why the Navy couldn't seem to design comfortable harness systems. Rumor had it that if aircraft aviators back on Earth rejected a harness as substandard it got sent to a spaceship.
    " Michaelson , this is the gig. We have secured the pod. Request scheduled course and speed activity so we can plan an intercept."
    Carl made a slapping forehead gesture, then quickly sent the requested data. "This is the Michaelson . Our current course and speed projections are attached to this transmission."
    "Roger. We copy full transmission. Preparing intercept plan. Request advise disposition of pod."
    Carl glanced at Captain Gonzalez. "Ma'am?"
    Gonzalez gave him an arch look in reply. "When's the gig going to get back to us?"
    "Uh, I'll find out, Captain." Carl checked with the gig, waiting with visible impatience until the reply came. "They project intercept in forty-five minutes, halfway between our pickup of pods eight and nine."
    "Good. Ask the bosun where he'll want that pod at that time."
    "Yes, ma'am." Carl looked cross as he called the bosun and got the reply, then sent the instructions on to the gig.
    Paul leaned close to him and spoke in a whisper. "What's the matter?"
    "What's the matter?" Carl muttered back. "I should've realized the bosun needed that information before the captain asked me for it. At least Gonzalez was nice about it, but she could've burned me and I wouldn't have had any grounds to complain."
    Paul nodded. There's so many details to handle in such a short time. It's a good thing we've got multiple people watching everything . "Coming up on the sixth pod." The first couple of pod intercepts had been exciting, but by now the process was beginning to feel tedious. Paul's mind drifted a bit, as he imagined his upcoming reunion with Jen, but he jerked himself back to full attention. This is still dangerous. I've got to stay sharp .
    Six, then seven, then eight. As the Michaelson was pushing over to her intercept with escape pod number nine, the ship's gig called in. "We are closing on you at this time. Request further instructions."
    Paul glanced at Carl. "They had quite a stern chase to catch up with us."
    "Yeah. I'm sure they burned a hunk of fuel doing it."
    "Did Randy top off the gig before they launched?"
    Carl indicated his read-outs with one extended finger. "Nope."
    "Oh, man."
    As the acceleration eased again, Carl pivoted his chair to face the captain. "Ma'am, the gig has the pod and requests further instructions."
    "So I understand, Mr. Meadows." Captain Gonzalez pondered the question for a moment. "What's the gig's fuel state?"
    Carl rechecked his remote read-outs on the gig. "I read 51 percent fuel remaining, ma'am."
    "Fifty-one percent? How can it be that low already?" Gonzalez thumbed a communications switch. "Gig, this is Captain Gonzalez. Confirm your current fuel state."
    Ensign Diego's voice held a hint of worry when he replied. "The gig is at 51 percent fuel, ma'am."
    "How'd you get down to 51 percent this quickly? Is there a problem with a fuel tank?"
    "Uh, no, ma'am. We, uh, launched at 75 percent -."
    "You didn't launch with one hundred percent fuel?"
    "N-no, ma'am."
    Gonzalez glowered at her display, her face reddening, the fingers of one hand drumming on her chair arm. "Mr. Meadows, order the gig to come back aboard. Have the Chief Bosun Mate personally supervise getting the gig and the escape pod