nauseous again. He gripped the扶手, knuckles white. The flickering lights overhead made his already queasy stomach churn even more. This wasn't the smooth, controlled sway he'd hoped for. It felt more like being thrown around in a cheap carnival ride, just when you thought you were finally getting your sea legs.

"Bastard," he muttered under his breath. "Thought I was done for back there, and now this? What next? The ship decides to become a bucking bronco?"

The comm screen flickered back to life, the image of his dad washing out slightly in the motion. Frankly, the jostling was making it hard to focus. "爸！您老人家身体咋样啊？没摔着吧？" Wang Mengguang tried to keep the panic out of his voice, but it probably showed.

Old Man Wang's face appeared, slightly smeared with whatever he'd been doing – probably reading the newspaper again, or maybe wrestling with his magic trick collection. "Hah! Young master Mengguang is in space! Feeling alright, kid?" His dad always called him "little master" even though he was older. It was one of the many inconsistencies about Old Man Wang.