“Let her have her head! Stop fighting her,” Rams raged at the big woman as she struggled with the wheel. He lifted himself on one elbow on the low bunk.

“What the hell do you think I’m doing,” Louella shot back. “You try steering this damn overgrown tub with one arm and see how easy it is!” She lifted her sling to emphasize her words.

“Let me get over there…” Rams said weakly. He tried to push himself up and failed. He flopped back onto the pallet Pascal, Louella’s navigator, had rigged for him.

“Don’t bother trying to get up. You’d fall right on your ugly face even if you ever did manage to get your ass in gear,” Louella said nastily. “With that smashed leg you probably couldn’t make it to the pilot’s seat, even if you weren’t so doped up. Now, be quiet and let me concentrate; I’ve gotten ships home in worse weathers than this. Trust me: I know what I’m doing!”

The Primrose was a huge whale of a vessel. Her crew quarters were nestled deep within a bulbous pressure hull. Beneath her hull hung a kilometer-long diamond fibre keel and on her upper deck were the enormously strong sails that harnessed the howling winds of Jupiter. Lashed securely to her side was a smaller ship, Thorn; a barque that, until recently, had been JBI’s sole entry into the Great Jupiter Race. It was this tow that made handling of Primrose so difficult.

Rams was still struggling weakly when Pascal arrived with three mugs of steaming tea. He placed one mug where Rams could reach it and held out another cup out for Louella. “If you want to drink this you’ll have to let me take the wheel. You’ve only got one arm.”

“Don’t wreck my ship,” Rams mumbled as he fumbled with the spill-proof cup, trying to put the nipple to his lips.

“Fifteen years of handling large sail, Captain. I think I can keep her on track while Louella sips her tea,” Pascal replied affably.