"Next, please." She handed a cup of the greenish stuff to Ringg, behind him. Bart went down toward the drive room, and to his own surprise, found himself wishing the girl were a mathematician rather than a medic. It would have been pleasant to watch her down there. Old Rugel, on duty in the drive room, watched Bart strap himself in before the computer. "Make sure you check all dials at null," he reminded him, and Bart felt a last surge of panic. This was his first cruise, except for practice runs at the Academy! Yet his rating called him an experienced man on the Polaris run. He'd had the Lhari training tape, which was supposed to condition his responses, but would it? He tried to clench his fists, drove a claw into his palm, winced, and commanded himself to stay calm and keep his mind on what he was doing. It calmed him to make the routine check of his dials. "Strapdown check," said a Lhari with a yellowed crest and a rasping voice. "New man, eh?" He gave Bart's straps perfunctory tugs at shoulders and waist, tightened a buckle. "Karol son of Garin." Bells rang in the ship, and Bart felt the odd, tonic touch of fear. _This was it._ Vorongil strode through the door, his banded cloak sweeping behind him, and took the control couch. "Ready from fueling room, sir." "Position," Vorongil snapped. Bart heard himself reading off a string of figures in Lhari. His voice sounded perfectly calm. "Communication." "Clear channels from Pylon Dispatch, sir." It was old Rugel's voice. "Well," Vorongil said, slowly and almost reflectively, "let's take her up then." He touched some controls. The humming grew. Then, swift, hard and crushing, weight mashed Bart against his couch. "Position!" Vorongil's voice sounded harsh, and Bart fought the crushing weight of it. Even his eyeballs ached as he struggled to turn the tiny eye muscles from dial to dial, and his voice was a dim croak: "Fourteen seven sidereal twelve point one one four nine...." "Hold it to point one one four six," Vorongil said calmly. "Point one one four six," Bart said, and his claws stabbed at dials. Suddenly, in spite of the cold weight on his chest, the pain, the struggle, he felt as if he were floating. He managed a long, luxurious breath. He _could_ handle it. He knew what he was doing. _He was an Astrogator...._ Later, when Acceleration One had reached its apex and the artificial gravity made the ship a place of comfort again, he went down to the dining hall with Ringg and met the crew of the _Swiftwing_. There were twelve officers and twelve crewmen of various ratings like himself and Ringg, but there seemed to be little social division between them, as there would have been on a human ship; officers and crew joked and argued without formality of any kind. None of them gave him a second look. Later, in the Recreation Lounge, Ringg challenged him to a game with one of the pinball machines. It seemed fairly simple to Bart; he tried it, and to his own surprise, won.